


The Paradox of Light

by artistic-writer (Itrustyoutokillme)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Choking, Depression, F/M, Fighting, Graphic Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Self Defense, Sexual Addiction, Tissue Warning, emma!whump, killian!whump, mild erotic asphyxiation, shit you gonna need therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/artistic-writer
Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface.  They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms?  What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control?  What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down?  How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light?





	The Paradox of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HollyeLeigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/gifts).



> To be safe, I have rated this fic the highest I possibly can. It contains a considerably emotional trigger warning list and contains some very strong subject matter. Please do not read it if anything on the list is unsettling to you. I am always available to answer any questions people may have before they settle in to read this, but I will in no way be offended if you feel like you need to skip it. It is something I felt I had to write for myself, for the lovely @hollyethecurious and to get out all of my pent up sadness over the death of my grandfather (something I am still struggling with, but thanks to friends, it gets better every day.)
> 
> Thank you so much to my lovely betas @resident-of-storybrooke and @kmomof4 ! You ladies are all kinds of awesome. Tori, thank you for keeping me on the right side of a line that I feared I would cross. It means so much to me that you could help me with this and I hope there is no lasting damage to your emotional state. Krystal, what can I say other than you are a wonderful person, who sacrificed her own feels for this fic, in the name of a friendship that is so precious to me, I am crying right now. You know why else <3 <3 ‘ A man of too many friends comes to ruin, But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.’ [Proverbs 18:24] And @hollyethecurious I hope you enjoy this, and your cameo ;)

At first they had hated each other, with Emma setting her sights on the older Jones brother. Killian was nothing more to her than a thorn in her side. Cocky, arrogant and with a boyish smile that she wished she could slap right off his face, he was not for her. No, Emma Swan wanted Liam Jones, the stronger, more level headed of the two, but with a decade between them, by the time Emma had worked up the courage to tell him how she felt, Liam was announcing his marriage.

When Liam moved from their sleepy little hometown, leaving Emma’s teenage heart in pieces and Killian to continue his roguish antics unchecked, was when Emma began to notice him. He had a certain appeal. He had a car, would take her anywhere at the drop of a hat and puberty had been kind to him, with unblemished skin and a dashingly handsome growth that sprouted from his chin. The more Emma looked at him the more she felt that the bravado and confidence he exuded was more for just show. In private, when it was just the two of them, Killian was different.

One day in high school, they had decided to skip their respective classes and hang out at the edge of the school field. Killian was kind, less presumptuous and respectful when it was just the two of them and Emma liked it. He gave her his jacket when she was cold and his smell made her feel safe, like she was home, which considering she was adopted, was huge. Even the Nolans, her adoptive family, couldn’t completely fill the hole in her heart left by being abandoned, but somehow Killian could.

Killian’s senior prom was the turning point for her. He was a few years older than Emma and had promised to take her to both his and hers. He insisted because if nothing else, attending his with her would be a dry run for her own. Killian taught her to dance that night, holding her close, splayed hand pressed delicately to her lower back, the tips of his pointed ears turning red when Emma had pressed her body further into his, her early teenage yearning for Liam Jones long since gone.

_“There’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he is doing.”_

Emma had often thought about his words, long after her prom and into her college years, but whilst she had attended a local one, Killian had followed in his brother's footsteps and joined the Army. They never lost touch, sending letters to each other that mentioned everything and anything they could talk about. It was no substitution for the lilt of his accented voice, or the smile on his face that never failed to pick up her mood, but it was all she could get between his visits home.

When he was on leave, the first place he always went was her house. It was familiar to have him near her again, laughing and joking as they did silly things like play cards and swim in the lake. Emma knew he never wanted to talk about what he did in the line of duty, she could only imagine, so she never pressed him and knew that if he ever wanted to, he would tell her. Instead they spent their time poking fun at each other, acting more like a couple than most couples they knew, but with an annoyingly platonic and chaste intimacy that left Emma pining each time he deployed and left her with a seared cheek from his kiss.

But he was a gentleman, and she expected nothing less from him.

Five years went by between Killian joining the military and the day he came home. He was a ranger, the most elite sniper in his class, able to hit a target from over two thousand yards away, but his career had ended when he had been injured in the line of duty and subsequently medically discharged. Shrapnel now littered his torso, had embedded itself in his shoulder joint and had ripped through the muscles of his left upper arm like it was paper. A sniper with the inability to fire a weapon was useless, and rather than push paper for the rest of his life, Killian had come home carrying more than just physical scars and it was the wake up call Emma needed.

She had been beside herself to learn of his injuries. Her heart had skipped a beat in her chest and her blood had run cold through her entire body when she had been informed by Liam via an early morning phone call.

_“He’s okay, he just wanted you to know that.”_

That was the exact moment Emma Swan vowed to share her feelings that she had kept locked behind closed doors for so long. She loved him and needed to tell him lest she risk losing him with him never knowing how she felt.

The day he arrived home, waiting for him on the military airstrip in her senior prom dress was Emma, hair blowing in the warm breeze that whipped across the tarmac. There was a brief silence between them and people stared at her attire, but Emma did not care. She had finally realised what she had been fighting for so many years. Killian Jones, her best friend and confidant, was the man she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. So she had told him.

_“I’ve been thinking…”_

_“In your prom dress?”_

_“Shut up and listen.”_

_“Okay, love.”_

_“I love you, Killian. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and you held me at your prom. ‘Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing’ you told me…”_

_“Aye, Swan, I did…”_

_“Then I hope to God you know what you are doing because I am petrified.”_

_“I’m sure we can work it out.”_

_“Together?”_

_“Together.”_

Eight years later and they shared everything. The transition back into civilian life had been hard on Killian, but Emma was always there for him. She watched him cry, watched him scream and watched him fight with the demons inside of his head on a daily basis. It never went away, but it got easier, and on more than one occasion Killian had told Emma that she was his saviour. Only she knew how to help him, calm the beast and soothe his soul, but Killian’s descent into darkness had only just begun.

The day Killian’s phone rang and a police officer informed him of his brother’s demise was the day that would haunt Emma forever. Liam had been killed in a car accident on his way to visit them, the car having rolled along the highway so many times they had struggled to free his body. Emma would never forget the blood curdling sound Killian made as he screamed Liam’s name, collapsed to the floor and curled into the childlike ball of sobs. She let him cry, she let him shout and she let him smash every door in the house in his rage, and then after everything, she let him drink.

Killian Jones had lost count of the bottles he had seen the bottom of since the death of his brother. Each rum laden glass cask gradually weighed less as it emptied but the sorrow that felt like it was crushing him only got heavier. Liam had died quickly, in a car accident with no clear person to blame, and it had changed Killian forever. Whatever demons he carried from active service were amplified, the voices in his head taunting and eating away at his resolve.

There were no answers to his pleas to God at the bottom of the bottles, and even worse, there was no absolution.

 

 

_Six months ago_  
  


It had been only a short time since Liam’s death, but Killian had spent every second he wasn’t at work at the local bar. He always shot Emma a text letting her know where he was for which she was thankful. His drinking was starting to spiral and it had become pretty apparent that he was drinking more and more to try and quell the voices in his brain. It was wrong, Emma knew that, but it calmed him and helped him sleep, and despite her brain telling her it was wrong to enable him, her heart ached each time he sobbed himself into a slumber, so she let him drink to forget.

Or at least she thought she was. There had been a shift in his behaviour recently and whilst Emma figured he was starting to sober up, clear the niggles in his brain and finally begin to accept his loss, Killian was in fact becoming a functioning alcoholic. His breath reeked of booze each time he returned home, sometimes with bloody knuckles and sometimes with a glassy stare, but each time he was the same. Drunk, and the more he needed to drink to forget, the more frustrated he was becoming with being without his brother.

That night he came home, stumbling through the door and groggily mumbling to himself as he toed off his shoes at the door, Emma simply greeted him as usual without judgement. She was hurting as well. Liam had been her friend too, but as much as she was hurting, she could never compare to how hard Killian had fallen into the darkness of sorrow.

“How was work?” Emma asked, the question becoming somewhat of a code between them. It was something she had devised in order to gauge his level of inebriation and also work out how bad his mentality had been compromised during the day. She shifted her weight, resting a hand to the kitchen island as she watching him struggle with the zip of his jacket.

“It was unusually dull,” Killian slurred sarcastically, his balance suddenly compromised as he tried to pull his arms free from the confines of his sleeves. He stepped sideways, foot landing heavily on the hardwood floor with a thud as he tried to keep himself upright. Finally freeing his arms he staggered backwards into the lounge and sank down onto the arm of the couch with a sigh when the back of his thighs hit the solid mass.

“And your colleagues?” Emma prodded, moving to stand before him. The voices in his head were something he dealt with every day, sometimes successfully blocking them out, but it seemed the demon of drink always gave them free reign to torment him before he had consumed enough to silence them.

Killian screwed up his features, the rosy tint in his cheeks from too much rum hidden under a swipe of his hands as he covered his face with a wavering nod. “Chatty,” he whispered into his palms, inhaling deeply and letting his body hunch over as tears sprang from his eyelids.

“Hey,” Emma soothed, stepping between his parted thighs and pulling his hands from his face. His face was warm beneath her hands as she cupped his head, tilting his head back so he was looking up at her. “I’m here,” she told him softly, searching the clouded grey hues of his eyes with her own. “I’m here.”

Killian couldn’t stop the sound he made escaping his throat as he cried, the wail cutting straight through Emma’s chest and splitting her heart in two. He buried his face in the softness of her sweater, muffling his cries against her body and wrapping his arms around her, desperate to hold onto anything. “Don’t go,” he sobbed. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” Emma repeated, her voice watery from the lump that had begun to sting the back of her throat. “I need you too,” she whimpered, pinching her eyes closed just enough to let a single tear roll from her eyelid and scorch a line down her face. It fell from her chin and down the back of Killian’s shirt, his cries subsiding as he pulled his head back to look up at her.

It had taken weeks for her own grief to manifest enough that she had cried for her friend. Emma wasn’t sure where rock bottom actually was, but she was pretty sure they were both there at this exact moment in time, the silence between them echoing with the words neither of them needed to say. Killian had cried a literal river for his brother, but this had been the first time Emma had shed a single tear, and it had somehow ignited the need within both of them to feel again.

“Emma…” He gulped after her name, his voice raspy and gritty, the emotion in his words all he needed to tell her exactly what he needed as he rested his hands to her hips and gently pushed himself to his feet.

“Killian…” Emma sighed his name, looking up at him through her eyelashes with a prickle of heat that surged over the skin of her neck and through her entire body.

“I want…” he began nervously, unable to stop the way his gaze lingered over her body and his hands toyed with the hem of her sweater. His fingertips barely brushed the surface of her exposed skin but Emma gasped audibly, her eyes fluttering closed and her hand grasping the fabric of his shirt between shaking fingers.

“I know,” Emma said softly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she watched her hand against his chest, the quickening heartbeat beneath her fingertips matching the pounding in her ears. Emma lifted her gaze, blinking away more tears. “I want to feel too.”

The first thing they both felt again was softness of lips slightly salty from tears, mouths sliding against each other haphazardly and clothes being discarded with abandon. There were no words, only the soft pants and heavy breathing that accompanied their ascent to the bedroom, a trail of clothes in their wake. It was like a bright light in both of their lives, neither having made love since Liam’s death, and they savoured every second.

Even drunk, Killian knew every inch of her body, every curve, dip and patch of silky skin committed to his memory. And he knew exactly how to make Emma feel, how to excite every cell in her body the way she needed in that exact moment. Killian never stopped touching her, taking his time to make sure that every hair on Emma’s body was standing to attention for him before he dipped his head between her thighs and finally gave her what she needed.

Emma’s cries were like music to his ears and Killian lapped at her essence like he was hearing her moans for the first time. They urged him on, his own need growing hard between his legs with every gasp she emitted from her slightly parted lips. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t need to, because the sounds Emma made as she writhed beneath his assault told him everything he needed to know.

The first time she came, her body stiffening as he relentlessly flicked his tongue over her clit, Killian felt something other than his own arousal surge through him. It was like a drug, a calm washing over his woes and guiding him from the depths of pain. He needed more and when Emma’s cries subsided he surged upwards and impaled her in a single thrust of his hips, watching the way her features twisted in pleasure and loving the feeling of being whole.

“I love you,” he whispered, stilling inside of her and stroking the side of her flushed face with his fingertips.

Emma could barely focus, her eyelids rolling open and fresh tears stinging her eyes once more. She blinked them away and Killian wiped them from existence with a gentle swipe of his thumb over her cheek. “I love you,” he repeated, holding her gaze as he angled his hips a little and sank into her further. Emma’s back arched off of the bed, her body yearning to feel more of the light that only Killian could shine on her.

“Oh God, I love you so much,” she gasped huskily, finally releasing the breath she had been holding and almost losing herself once more with the barest of movements. When Killian began to move and her walls fluttered around him, Emma groaned, more symphonic tones that made him want even more than before.

Killian’s hand found hers, their fingers lacing together and their palms pressing together so firmly that Emma almost couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore. He lifted their joined digits above Emma’s head, increasing his pace as he pressed the back of her hand into the bed, his grip like a vice, tethering him to her and both of them to reality.

Killian’s other hand found Emma’s hip and his fingernails dug into her skin, a sensation she didn’t find unpleasant because like the burning between her thighs and the increasing pressure in her stomach, it made her feel, and that was all she wanted. She wanted the light once more, to bathe in its glow as she lost herself and fell from grace at the hand of the man she loved, the swivel of his hips and the drag of his length along her inner walls delicious and torture at the same time.

Emma was so close it was almost painful, the room filled with the stench of sex and alcohol fading away as the pin pricks of white began to flicker behind her eyelids. She felt Killian’s forehead rest against hers and the warmth of his rum laced breath invade her nostrils as his own body shuddered, his knuckles turned white with his grip and he whimpered her name like a prayer.

“I’m here,” Emma panted hoarsely, her hand finding the side of his face and her lips ghosting over his.

It was enough to send them both into oblivion, their bodies basking in the rays of euphoria and numbing the sting of pain they both felt in the very depths of their hearts. They were lost in each other, swaying in an ocean of pleasure that they would quite happily have drowned in should the waves become tumultuous, but they didn’t, instead gently lapping at the edge of their subconscious, chasing away the agony.

For now.

 

 

_Five months ago_  
  


_“Hi, Emma, it’s Will.”_

_“Is he…?”_

_“Yeah, I’m afraid so, lass.”_

_“I’m on my way. Don’t let him leave.”_

Like so many phone calls before, Emma knew exactly what it meant when Will called her. He was a good friend of theirs, a military buddy of Killian’s and the manager of the local bar that just happened to be where Killian went night after night to poison himself into a stupor. Will could not turn him away whilst sober, despite knowing exactly what he was trying to achieve by drinking more than his weight in spirits, but even Will had a limit to how far he would go to help his friend.

And by Will’s tone, Emma knew Killian had reached his brand new threshold. Steadily he had become immune to the effects of prolonging drinking, becoming even more depressed as he had remained sober for longer, and to make matters even worse, Emma had let him. She felt awful, watching the man that she loved crumble each and every night he returned home in a mess of bitter tasting kisses and sloppy groping.

But she had made a choice, as selfish as it seemed, to ignore the rancid taste on Killian’s tongue night after night in favour of her own high that lie on the other side of her orgasm. They had fallen into a routine of him drinking himself stupid, his emotions getting the better of him when it was never enough, and then the both of them falling into bed and into each other to numb what they were feeling. It was wrong, and it was selfish, but Emma never wanted it to end.

What lay just beyond their grief was their hope, a guiding beacon of deliverance, and the only thing in their way was the pleasure of getting there, each losing themselves in the other and falling asleep in each other's arms. It had been enough and they had managed to function, neither saying a word of what they required because the other always knew. Except now they had become addicted to each other, with no sense of moderation, and that was why Emma found herself driving out to Will’s bar at midnight to retrieve her next fix.

Killian always drank in the same booth because that corner of the bar was dimly lit and he could hide his tears after each glass. When Emma approached it didn’t escape her notice that the table was full of empty tumblers, none with a single drop of alcohol left in the bottom, and that there were more than usual covering the wooden surface. He was slumped back in the soft, dark green leather seat, his chin on his chest and his fingers wrapped around what she assumed was his last drink, even though the glass looked as dry as a bone.

“Will cut me off,” he grumbled against his chest, not looking up to meet her gaze. Emma sighed pitifully.

“Come on, Killian, let’s get you home,” she coaxed gently as she moved some of the glasses away from the edge of the table. If he stumbled she didn’t need him breaking a glass or worse.

“I’m not…” he began, quickly blowing out his cheeks and swallowing the rise of burning bile that had crept up his throat.

“I think you’re done drinking,” Emma offered. She stepped forward and ran her hand through his hair as he lifted his head to look at her, a genuine smile that she had not seen for months plastered across his face, but as quickly as it appeared, it faded and Killian wrenched his head away from her touch.

“I’m not done drinking,” he spat, unable to stop himself when he fell sideways and out of the booth. Killian barely stopped his face colliding with the floor and quickly pushed himself to his knees. “That...That bastard said I’ve had enough!” He waved an accusing finger towards the bar, his eyes squinting at Will who simply watched with a solemn expression.

Emma gave Will a quick apologetic smile before turning back to Killian and crouching down beside him. “I think you’ve had enough,” Emma said seriously, her jaw clenching and her arms straining as she hooked her arm into his elbow and yanked Killian to his feet.

Killian shook his head from side to side, sucking on his bottom lip and closing his eyes just long enough to stop the world spinning. “I know I’ve got room for more,” he laughed maniacally, falling against Emma who struggled to hold him aloft by herself. Luckily, Will had seen the display, on more than one occasion, and was on hand to help instantly.

“Yeah? And why is that, mate?” Will lifted Killian’s arm and ducked under it, holding him with Emma who mirrored his actions on the opposite side. They shuffled towards the back door, that exit closest to Emma’s car, Killian still giggling like he had just outsmarted his biggest nemesis. They stopped briefly when Killian plastered his hand to the side of Will’s head, turning his face to his as his eyes peeled open and he looked him dead in the eye.

“Because I can still feel,” Killian said softly, his voice wavering on the last word. Will paused, the bleakness behind Killian’s eyes something he had never noticed before now. They were dull, the spark of blue he once saw from both Jones brothers now gone, replaced with a blackness that had turned them grey. Killian’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump of tears down his throat and his lips twitched into a weak smile as he patted Will’s cheek and pressed his forehead against his. “It still hurts.”

“I’m sorry, mate,” Will almost whispered, grabbing the back of Killian’s head and holding him steady. “I wish I could take it away, you know that.”

“You can,” Killian whimpered. “Just one more…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupted gently and Killian looked away from his friend and back to the woman he loved with a slight sway. Will caught him and stopped him from falling backwards. “Let’s just go home.”

Her words were code, Emma knew it and Killian knew it too. Home wasn’t where they lived, parked their cars at night and watched their television. No, home was more than that. It was the place of peace they found inside of each other, the place they went to when they needed each other the most because the guilt of living was too much to bear. And above all else, home was where they could forget about the world and where the weight of misery was lifted from their shoulders.

They barely spoke on the way home, the cold night air whistling through Killian’s tousled hair as he rested his head against the doorframe, the window of the truck rolled all the way down. He sang to himself, songs from his tours of duty, songs that reminded him of his brother’s both familial and adoptive. The words were gut wrenching and Emma had no idea he even knew he was saying them aloud, but she simply drove and listened, the now familiar lump once again forming in her throat as he sobbed through each verse beside her.

“Emma?” Killian coughed her name roughly, a burn tearing through his lungs that was most likely from the cold and the alcohol. He had found the couch, his body too intoxicated to find its way to anywhere else in the house and he had collapsed back into the softness of the cushions as if they had beckoned him.

“Right here,” Emma murmured softly, tossing her car keys onto the kitchen island and moving into the lounge. “Here, drink this,” Emma commanded gently, lifting Killian’s hand and guiding it to the tall glass of water in her hand. He fumbled, barely gripping the slippery glass, so she helped him lift it to his lips and he sipped the ice cold liquid with disgust.

“Water?” Killian grimaced, turning his face away from it like a child. “Where is the rum?”

“No more rum,” Emma chastised, placing the glass on the table in front of them and settling beside him on the couch. She laid her hand down over his knee, feeling how cold he was through the fabric of his jeans.

“It’s not enough,” Killian scoffed, his words quickly turning into a sorrowful sob as they left his mouth. Emma knew what he meant and gave his knee a squeeze. The alcohol was not enough to take away the pain anymore and Emma wished she could ease his burden and carry some of his despair.

“Killian, I…” she began gently.

“You love me, right?” he blurted suddenly. Emma frowned a little as she took in his expression. It was soft, desperate and child like and his lip quivered. Killian’s cheeks flushed red and the tears in his eyes came back, the redness around his eyes reappearing as she saw the fresh wave that threatened to fall.

“Of course,” Emma slid closer to him and flattened her palm to his cheek. Killian leaned into her touch and held her hand to his face as he inhaled her scent. “I will always love you.”

“I want…” he stuttered, searching her eyes for a sign that she could understand what he wanted without him having to force the rest of the words from his mouth. Killian pulled Emma’s hand a little until she had no choice but to move with her arm and so she did, straddling his lap as he had intended.

“I know,” Emma whispered, leaning her forehead against his and cupping his face in her hands. Killian’s scruff tickled her palms but she ignored it as his tears soaked her fingers. “I want it too,” she gulped hard, her fingers sliding up and down the sides of his face, threading through his sideburns and tracing the outline of his elfen ears.

With a hefty sigh of relief, Killian’s dam broke and his audible cry of anguish rumbled from deep in his chest. “I know we shouldn’t,” he sobbed, his breath hitching in his throat and his hands finding the hem of Emma’s sweater. “But I just want to…”

“Feel free?” Emma sighed softly. Killian nodded against her and Emma pulled her face from his and moved off of his lap. He was hit with the very real panic of never letting the stabbing sensation in his chest be replaced with anything else until Emma grabbed the back of her sweater and pulled it over her head. She tossed it aside, made short work of her jeans and bra and left him stunned to silence when she stood before him as gloriously naked as the day she was born.

She was an angel, of that he was sure. She was a celestial being sent to guide him through the path of shadows and light his way to freedom. Only, Killian knew as much as Emma did, that if that was true, she was about to become one of the fallen, an angel tempted by the sins of man and never to be redeemed.

“Me too,” Emma rasped, sitting astride his lap once more and frantically tugging at the belt of his jeans. Helpless to aid her because of the heaviness of his limbs, Killian simply watched her nimble fingers work on the button of his jeans, tugging the sides apart and sending a shock wave of arousal coursing right through him.

This time was about her need, Killian knew that. She was quick, barely allowing herself to become aroused before sinking down onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn he knew she would undoubtedly feel from his girth. And there was a hurriedness in her actions, a hunter like instinct to find her own quarry that scared him a little until she found a rhythm that made her shudder and leaned forward to taste his lips.

“Make me come, Killian,” Emma gasped between bounces, planting her lips against his only long enough to feel them on her skin and not taste the sourness of rum on his breath. “Take me there.”

Killian wrapped his arms around her naked form, planting his hands firmly against her back until he felt the bumps of her spine beneath the tips of his fingers. Emma’s soft, downy body hair sprang to attention and she arched her back willingly when Killian curved her body away from his and loomed forward to capture a nipple between his lips. They were dry and cracked against her skin but Emma didn’t mind the texture. It was like a trigger, her external pain amplifying her internal struggle for release that only Killian could give her.

Nails clawed over her skin and teeth bit down on the peaks of her breasts and Emma screamed out, her orgasm ripping through her body like an exorcism, leaving its mark in the form of weak shudders and soft whimpers as the demon of desolation left her body once more. Killian followed shortly afterwards, his hips jutting into her throbbing core only a few more times before he found his own salvation and went deaf from it, the beacon of light shining through him once more.

There was a moment after they had both peaked that they felt free. They were free from pain, free to let hands roam over gentle curves and through messed up side parted hair, but it never lasted. They both knew they would wake up the next day, the high of their bliss having subsided and the demons of despair making their inevitable return, but for now all they had was this moment, and in this moment, they were alive.

 

 

_Four months ago_  
  


Emma knew this day would come. Killian had left for work as normal, kissing her goodbye and acting as normal as any other person in the world. His breath was fresh and minty, a tiny remnant of toothpaste caught in the corner of his mouth that Emma had wiped away with a wet thumb pad. And there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, one that Emma had not seen for months, a smile of genuine glee on his face and a sparkle in his eyes as he let the door close behind him and waved goodbye.

It wasn’t long after home time, when she had received no messages like she usually did, that panic set in and Emma realised that what Killian had been experiencing in the morning was simply mania. Depression was an evil thing, worming itself into the lives of unsuspecting people, creeping up on them without remorse. Every once in a while, there would be a peak of happiness that professionals would call mania, the manic side of being so low that you can’t physically take it anymore.

Killian had always texted Emma to tell her he was at Will’s bar, but not tonight, and after Will had texted her to say he had confiscated Killian’s keys, she had resigned herself to the fact that he was probably not coming home for the first time since Liam had died. She felt empty and was unable to drink the cinnamon topped hot chocolate she had prepared shortly before bed, simply leaving the milky drink to go cold and lumps of melted cream to float around the surface.

Emma knew she hadn’t been asleep long when she heard the rattle of keys struggling to find the lock on the front door. There was barely even the disorientation of sleep clouding her mind or the fuzz of sleep covering the inside of her mouth before she heard the cursing coming from the kitchen and the breaking of ceramic against the floor. The cold chocolate had met its demise against the slate tiles and Killian hadn’t even lowered his voice as he swore about the mess.

“Swan!” He called out groggily, his voice booming through the silent house. A light chuckle followed his shout but Emma did not move, her limbs heavy and her mind exhausted from her worry that had now been abated. She knew he would find his way to bed, he always had before, but the tingle in her joints and the increase of her heart beat told her that her body was not as annoyed as she should be.

The bedroom door opened with a thud as it hit the wall behind, the indent from the doorknob leaving a mark in the plaster of ever increasing depth. It was fruitless trying to cover it up now because if it wasn’t one addiction making the door fly open in a sloppy maneuver, it was the desperation of the other sending the cold, round handle into the wall night after night as they tore each other’s clothes off seeking their high.

“Swan?” Killian whispered all too loudly as he stumbled over his boots midway through kicking them off. “Are you awake?” He made it to the edge of the bed, falling forward and only just stopping himself with two flat palms to the mattress.

“I am now,” Emma lied, rolling over to face him. He was merry, not doubt about it, his rosy cheeks and red tipped ears telling her exactly his poison of choice. Rum always made him blush in random places.

“I tried to be quiet,” Killian slurred, swaying side to side as he lifted his knee onto the bed in an ungainly manner. He lost his balance instantly and slammed his foot back to the floor before he toppled over. “Did you make the bed higher?” He mumbled, inspecting the edge of the mattress with a frown.

“No, Killian,” Emma sighed, sitting up and flicking her hair behind her shoulders. She never went to bed with her hair tied up anymore, not since meeting Killian, but it had been months since he had absently run his fingers through it in his sleep and inhaled the soft vanilla scent from her shampoo.

“I like your hair,” Killian grinned at her, eyelids heavy and a boyish smirk plastered across his face. Emma rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head a little. “It’s so…” He paused, trying to find the words, poking his tongue out and sucking behind his teeth until he made a squeaking noise. “...yellow.”

“Yellow?” Emma asked incredulously.

“Aye, like the bug,” Killian smiled at her and it was real, a soft curve of his lips that were slightly parted and told her that he was happy, if only for this moment. He attempted to mount the bed once again, this time victoriously, and shuffled onto his side once he had taken a good two minutes to free his arms from the confines of his leather jacket. He tossed it across the room with little effort and when he ran his hand through his hair, Emma noticed the dried blood adorning his knuckles in the light of the moon.

“You’ve cut your hand,” She said quickly, pulling his hand closer so she could inspect it. The skin on his knuckles had burst open leaving a jagged edged wound in its wake, the fresh, bright red blood still trying to escape through the dried, dark brown crust. Emma leaned over and pulled the toggle switch on one of their bedside lamps, the room erupting in a dim orange glow as soon as the clicking sound filled their ears.

“I’m fine,” Killian shrugged dismissively.

Emma looked up from his hand to meet his gaze and her eyes went wide, the light flooding into her pupils and making her eyes sting. “Killian! You’re hurt!” She shrieked, moving closer, the feather duvet ruffling around her as she did, her eyes roaming over his face. He was beat, there were no bones about that, a purple swell under his right eye keeping his eyelids together and a dried line of blood that had trickled down the side of his face.

“You should see the other guy,” Killian said joyously, giving her a wink. Emma tutted, mostly at herself because as her hand hovered over a freshly reopened wound on his right cheek, she felt a surge of want that scared her. She was fascinated by the patterns of splattered blood on his shirt collar, turning the blue material into a dark maroon colour under ear spot, and she felt a blush creep up the back of her neck.

“Killian, I’m serious,” Emma chastised, enjoying the weight of his hand in hers, even if she shouldn’t under the circumstances. Her mind wandered briefly when he turned their hands over, brushing his thumb over the backside of her knuckles in a move so gentle her heart skipped in her chest and she had to swallow hard.

“So am I,” he said softly, his good eye fluttering closed when Emma’s featherlight fingertips brushed over the split skin next to his hairline.

“Is this all your blood?” Emma asked nervously as her eyes flickered over his face more urgently. Her gaze roamed lower and took in his shirt, top buttons tore off most likely from an opponent who had grabbed at the material. He had some dark red fingerprint type smudges across his neck, half shaped moon bruises there from fingernails and his chest hair glistened with a wet look.

“I’m sure it is not all mine,” Killian announced proudly. “I gave as good as I got, love, trust me.”

Emma flattened her hands out over his shirt, dread setting into her heart when she felt the warm, wet sensation under her fingers and realised that the wet look to his chest hair was in fact blood, his blood, from a wound that had been newly inflicted or was struggling to stem itself under the friction of his shirt. Emma tore at the remainder of his buttons, ripping the edges of his shirt apart in haste.

“Oh my god,” She exclaimed breathlessly, her face turning alabaster and heat prickling her skin when she saw the damage. “Fuck, Killian, you’ve been stabbed!”

“What?” Killian laughed nervously, craning his neck to look down at where Emma was looking. Sure enough, even through blurred vision, Killian could see the irregular circular shape punched into his pec, the flaps of skin around the edges the faintest shade of white under the layer of caked on blood. He lifted his head again, the colour draining from his face in shock. “Well, bugger.”

The hospital was more than understanding and why wouldn’t they believe the word of the local sheriff when she told them her boyfriend was accidentally injured in a bar fight? It probably wasn’t a million miles from the truth, but Killian could not remember how it had happened. A quick call to Will confirmed that there had been an altercation in the bar that, but nothing more than a few pickled slurs and insults that had fizzled out towards closing time. It seemed whoever Killian had ticked off had followed him out back because Will had found a broken bottle by the dumpster, the bottom shattered, bloody fingerprints around the neck and the sharp, pointed edges covered in dried blood.

“You are lucky,” Emma snapped, tossing her purse onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m alright, love,” Killian said with a wince as he shrugged out of his blood stained jacket whilst being mindful of his injury.

“That’s not the point,” Emma bit out, unable to look in his direction. “Not only did you not come home when Will’s closed, but when you did finally fall through the door you were stabbed, Killian! Stabbed!”

“I’m sorry, Swan,” Killian gulped, the last few hours having sobered him up enough that he could see the pain in her posture and the hurt in her voice as it switched between anger and fear. He moved towards her, his bootless feet falling silent on the tile, sidestepping the congealed chocolate he had spilled a few hours ago.

Emma leaned forward, trembling hands clinging to the edge of the marble as the emotion of the whole evening hit her like a freight train. Killian’s hands were on her as soon as the flood gates opened, drawing slow circles over the curve of her shoulder joints with his thumbs as she cried. Emma shook, her whole body wracked with sobs she had been holding in since the moment she discovered the gaping hole in his chest.

“Damn it, Killian!” She cried, slamming a flat palm into the cold, stone surface in front of her.

“I know,” he soothed sympathetically.

“They said you were lucky!” She screeched, turning to face him. He didn’t step back and ignored the pain that shot through his wound with the twist of his arm.

“I know…,” he agreed.

“Half an inch to the right and that bottle would have pierced your heart!” Emma bellowed, her eyes falling to where the dried blood had turned his shirt a dark shade of brown. The hospital had cleaned away most of the blood that had stuck to his chest hair and he had left his shirt open on the way home, so Emma reached out and pressed her fingers against the steady beat of his heart, the skin warm and supple under her touch. She raked her nails over the patch of hair above his heart, millimeters from the tape of the bandage covering the hole in his pec and couldn’t stop the quiver in her lip as the tears tumbled from her eyes. “I could have lost you,” she whimpered, lifting her head to finally face him, the expression of a broken man staring back at her. “I can’t lose you.”

Killian fought the ache in his chest and lifted his arms, pulling her into his embrace, the bandage on his chest quickly soaked by Emma’s tears. “I know,” he sighed sadly, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing his hands up and down her back.

There were no words that he could say that would make her feel better. Emma had been stronger than he could have ever been but finally her integrity had shattered into a thousand pieces, all of which he held in his hands, a charge he neither felt qualified or strong enough to uphold. Emma’s fingers clutched at the edges of his shirt as she cried, holding him to her with distress in her wails that he would never forget.

She lifted her head and real fear flashed through her eyes, turning the honey hues into a murky hazel. Killian met her gaze, the silence between them saying everything that they needed to. He recognised the look in her eyes, he had seen it before when Liam had died and she had thought she would lose him to the sharp edge of a razor blade or in a bottle of prescription painkillers. It was primal, urgent and miserable want of the highest degree.

And he felt it too.

“What are we doing to each other?” Killian rasped, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes flickered between hers and her lips.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Emma commanded on a heaving breath, her fingers curling around the crusty edges of his shirt.

“Emma, I…” Killian began, his sobriety giving him a moment of clarity in this toxic part of their relationship he hadn’t experienced until now. Emma’s hands were on the back of his neck before any more words could escape his mouth, his body ignoring his brain’s objections as soon as their lips met. The kiss was feverish, burning them up from the inside out and making them gasp for oxygen between tastes of tongues, clashes of teeth and the biting of lips.

They had sex differently now. It wasn’t making love so much as fucking, diving into each other until they were drowning in the sounds of pleasure and the smell of their sweat sheened skin invaded their senses. It was hurried, like a race into wretchedness with no winner, a sprint for the finish line that left them elated but never sated.

Killian wanted her, and Emma wanted him. That was all they knew.

When Emma tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling in frustration, Killian growled and it set a switch off inside of Emma. Gone were her tears, gone was her worry that she might never have him again, instead the vacancy in her core replaced with desire, deep and sultry that had her tugging again at the dark locks and biting his bottom lip a little harder than he was used to. He cried out again and tore his lips from hers, dabbing his stinging bottom lip with a fingertip and inspecting it for blood. Killian looked up at her again, confused and aroused, Emma was looking up at him through her eyelashes, her body arching into his and her teeth troubling her bottom lip salaciously. He grinned, the intense throb in his jeans hurting that little bit more than before.

“There’s my pirate,” Emma cooed his nickname, wrapping her fingers around the chain that Killian wore around his neck. He never took it off because it held one of his most prized possessions, Liam’s ring, and she slid her hand down the cool metal links until she had it in her palm.

Killian surged forward, ignoring the sting of pain as he hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel his length through his jeans pressing into the thin material of the pajamas she had neglected to change out of in her panic to get him to the hospital before and it made her groan, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling his already open mouth to hers.

Their kisses were messy, wet and rushed, tongues diving deeper than they ever had before. Emma noticed the distinctly faded taste of a different brand of rum on Killian’s tongue and wondered if he had drunk through Will’s supply already that week, but it was short lived when Killian swiped an extended arm over the kitchen table, ridding it of a few magazines and candles, and them slammed her down on the hard, wooden surface with a grunt. He stood back, a dark hollowness to his stare as he grabbed the waistband of her pants and underwear at the same time and pulled them off in one motion.

“Hurry,” Emma begged wantonly, writhing on the table and watching his hands fumble with the button of his jeans. “I need you,” She purred as she traced circles over her clit, slicking her nectar from her fluttering core and using it as lubrication over the pulsating bundle of nerves. Killian was free in no time, roughly grabbing Emma’s knees as he stepped up to the edge of the table and pulling her to him, his tip stretching her entrance in just the most torturous way.

“I need you too,” Killian said firmly, his entire body shaking from holding himself back. Emma hooked her legs around his back, digging her heels into his spine and pulled him closer, impaling herself with a raging satisfaction.

“So, take me,” She challenged and it was all Killian needed to begin a rhythm with his hips that left her inner walls screaming for more and her body boneless.

He was relentless, gasping for breath and holding her to him as he thrust into her, barely leaving the comfort of her fiery centre for fear he might never find his way back. Emma yelped when he pulled her a little too harshly, hooking his hands behind her knees, his fingernails digging into her flesh so hard she was sure she would have bruises the next day. They would be a reminder, proof of their devotion and a visual description of the actions of their addiction to each other, hidden from friends but they would know they were there.

They would always know they were there.

As with any dependency, their trysts had become stale and they needed more each time in order to find the shining light within each other and feel the relief of a climax as it washed over them. Killian stopped his pounding thrusts when Emma screamed his name in such a way that meant she was close, cruelty he knew, but he wasn’t done with taking her to heaven just yet. Emma whined with a frown, but it was short lived because ignoring the searing pain from the stitches pulling against his freshly torn skin on his chest, Killian pulled her up off the table and into his arms, spinning them and stumbled into the side of the refrigerator.

“Yes,” Emma whispered, clutching the sides of his face and clawing at his cheeks. “More,” she panted, biting his chin and stiffening as he rolled his hips in that perfect way again and again.

“You’ll never lose me,” Killian panted between thrusts, his hands grabbing the globes of her naked ass as he leaned his entire weight against the buzzing appliance to hold Emma up. “Never,” he affirmed with a deep, core clenching plunge into her that made Emma bury her face in his neck and squeal with her impending orgasm.

“I’m there,” Emma sighed and she felt Killian grab the top of the refrigerator, pulling himself into her even harder to prolong her pleasure. “Come with me,” she begged, her voice almost as if she was crying, ready to explode on the inside, the approaching light inside of her numbing her senses and taking away her breath as well as her pain. Killian crowed, his legs buckling and giving out from underneath him, the pair of them tumbling to the floor and rolling into the remnants of the hot chocolate long forgotten.

Their bliss wouldn’t last, they both knew that, for tomorrow they would wake up still broken and damaged.

 

 

_Three months ago_  
  


_“Hi, Emma. It’s…”_

_“I’m on my way, Will.”_

The phone calls had become more frequent. Killian barely made his own way home anymore and Emma had forgot what it was like to walk or drive during the daylight. In a way she was thankful for Will because she knew he would never call the police if Killian got too much. They had served together, both seen and experienced the same awful things whilst deployed, but somehow Will had the strength inside of him to resist the voice inside of his head. Or maybe he was a ticking time bomb too, just waiting for the day when he would be detonated the way Killian had the day he heard of Liam’s demise.

Everybody had their demons, but it was only those who had been strong for too long that felt the strain.

When Emma had arrived, Killian wasn’t sitting in his usual booth, head hung low in a drunken haze and surrounded by empty glasses. Instead he was pacing the bar area, begging Will for more of the rum to burn away the pain he felt inside, unsatisfied with the glass of water he was waving around as he slurred his distaste towards his friend.

“Hey! Watch it!” A gruff voice boomed above Killian’s banter as the ice cold water spilled from the glass in his hand and instantly soaked into the shirt of the man next to him.

“Yeah? Or what?” Killian growled, slamming the half empty glass onto the highly polished bar.

The man got to his feet immediately, fuelled with rage and reeking of stale ale, and stepped into Killian’s space. Their foreheads were almost touching and in the time it took Emma to move from the entrance, fists were flying between the two men.

Killian took a clenched fist to the face, stumbling backwards only briefly before surging forward once more and grabbing the wet edges of the man’s shirt, pulling him towards him and lunging forward at the same time until he heard the crack of bone on bone and felt the man’s nose give way under his forehead. The man cried out, blood pouring from his nose like a crimson river and Killian took advantage of his dazed state to land another punch to the man’s gut.

“Guys!” Will screamed, hopping over the bar. “Not inside!” He screeched, grabbing Killian’s arm and pulling him backwards. Two other patrons joined his efforts, shoulder barging Killian’s drunken opponent and holding him back.

Killian shook Will off quickly and stumbled on heavy feet back towards the man who was snorting like a bull, droplets of blood on the floor between them and staining the front of his shirt.

“Come on, Jones!” The man encouraged with a blood stained smirk and wriggled free from the grasp of his captors. He grabbed his barstool, lifting the wooden item effortlessly and swinging it at Killian who had no time to move before it collided with his shoulder and he let out an anguished cry, pushing away the remnant of the broken wood and ignoring the sound of Will’s protests as it hit the floor.

“Hey! Hey!” Emma screamed as she stepped between the two men, her face contorting with pain as the man pushed her hard into Killian. It was sudden and Emma saw the flicker of adrenaline fuelled anger flash in Killian’s eyes as he caught her, his hollow stare something she was seeing for the very first time. He had blood smeared across his chin that darkened his stubble and a large splinter of wood had lodged itself in the skin of his cheek, but he was not there. Behind the darkness, he was someone else.

Something else.

Killian pushed Emma aside and she fell into Will’s embrace who had anticipated the outcome of her intervention. The bar erupted with patrons cheering and clapping, the scuffled on stools across the dusty wooden floor echoing in the background as every man leapt to his feet and punched the air when Killian dived for the man once more.

“Jones has to have his girlfriend fight his battles for him!” The man sneered, wiping the back of his hand under his nose and flicking the excess blood from his fingers.

“Say that again!” Killian warned, grabbing the man’s shirt once more just as a few burly men joined Will’s efforts to keep the two men apart.

“Enough!” Will roared as he squeezed between them. He almost got crushed between the bouncers as the two men desperately tried to claw at each other but managed to spin around long enough to give a nod of his head towards the door. “Get out of my bar!” He growled at the man, pushing him towards the exit and making his point with an extended finger. “Get out now!”

“She must be something really special,” he laughed, spitting a mouthful of dark brown blood to the bar floor. “Maybe she is there for the whole unit.” The man looked over Will’s shoulder to Killian who was fuming, the muscles on his jaw twitching and his fists clenched so tightly at his side that his knuckles were white. “She only fuck you military guys, or can any of us have a ride?”

The whole bar fell silent and Killian took advantage of it, slipping from the grasp of the huge balding man whose fingertips had been digging into his chest, rushing towards the foul mouthed man once more and slamming into him so hard that they both tumbled to the floor. No one had time to react and Emma watched as if in slow motion as the two men collided with the dirty floor, Killian straddling the much larger man and pummeling his face with a closed fist.

“Killian! No!” Emma cried, fighting back to tears that stung at her eyelids as she ran towards them. “He’s not worth it!” She pulled at Killian’s shoulders, fingers grabbing at tensed biceps and hanging from his arm as she desperately tried to slow down his assault. After what felt like an eternity the two men were pulled apart and Killian’s tormentor was ejected from the bar covered in his own blood and bruises appearing along the ridges of his face.

All eyes fell on Killian and Emma, both still surging with the rush of what had just happened, so Will ushered them towards the back door quickly. It only opened from the inside and lead to a secluded alleyway out back, the only entrance and exit to which was through the nearby parking lot which is where Will knew Emma would have parked her car.

“Get him home,” Will told her softly, his voice low as he tried to hide the anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Emma told him sheepishly, looking over her shoulder at Killian who had decided to expend some more of his energy kicking a rolling trash can. Will didn’t answer her and Emma completely understood why. How could he? He was put in the middle of his friend, who he owed a great debt from service, and jeopardizing his livelihood.

“Get him help,” Will said sadly, disappearing back into the bar and letting the door close behind him with a creak.

Killian was mumbling to himself when Emma approached him, her arms crossed over her chest as the chill of the night began to creep in through the thin material of her sweater. He could barely stay upright, shuffling backward and forward as he tried to pick a fight with the dumpster. Emma’s temper flared and she reached out and spun him to face her, the motion sending him into a spin and his focus drifting off to one side.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Emma pushed Killian back, flat palms hitting his chest over and over until his back made contact with the dark green dumpster.

“I had it under control!” Killian swatted her hands away and dismissed her concern with a sneer.

“Under control?” Emma laughed at him, planting her hands on her hips.

“Aye,” Killian argued cockily.

“Killian, you have just smashed a man’s face into a blood mess!” Emma screeched, pointing to the door behind them.

“In your defense!” Killian looked at her with a frown, clearly confused in his drunken state as to why she hadn’t found his actions heroic.

“Killian…” Emma began with a sigh, a trembling hand running over her brow as she looked to her feet.

“Oh, here we go,” Killian spat, stumbling sideways and steadying himself against the cold metal bin. “Here comes the great Emma Swan lecture!”

Emma’s head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at him angrily. The blood on his face had been mostly wiped away in the fight, a few specks still littering the tips of his ears and the cut on his cheek from the first blow had dried and messily sealed itself closed. They had begun to repeat this dance more often nowadays and it was starting to make Emma feel empty. They would insult each other, throw words neither of them really meant back and forth, fuelled by her tenacity and his alcoholism until they both regretted it or needed something else.

And it was always something else. Something else that Emma was fighting her own battles to avoid.

“What’s wrong, Swan, lost for words?” He grumbled at her spitefully.

“I’m not going to fight with you, Killian,” Emma said calmly, stepping away from him.

“Oh come now, love,” he chuckled darkly, holding out his hand in invitation. “You know how this ends. We might as well skip to the big finale.” He stepped forward, cupping his blood encrusted hand around Emma’s elbow.

“You are an addict,” Emma said softly, watching the scuffed toe of her boot kick at her reflection in the puddle before her. She didn’t even recognise the person staring back at her anymore.

“So are you,” Killian looked down at his own reflection joining hers in the murky water. “We are just addicted to different things.”

“Are we, though?” Emma lifted her head up to look at him. There was nothing behind his expression, his eyes void of any sign of the man that Emma had met. She knew he was in there, somewhere, but he couldn’t fight his way to the surface when it was easier to shrink away from the light. It was easier for both of them.

“I can’t quit you,” Emma said, her vice quaking. “And you know it.”

“Is that so wrong?” Killian tugged her elbow gently, pulling her towards him.

“It’s not right,” Emma moved back again but he stopped her, the grip on her elbow tightening.

“Let’s go back there,” Killian cooed, ignoring Emma’s resistance and closing the gap between them. He dipped his head a little and felt Emma’s body relax into his when he skimmed his lips over the shell of her ear. “We don’t have to feel this way. We can fix it,” he whispered into her ear, carding his fingers through the softness of her hair and cradling her head in his hand.

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed and as soon as he pressed his lips to the pulse in her neck she was halfway to being lost. Her mind screamed no but her body was ignoring the protest, something she knew Killian recognised when she felt him smirk against the quickening rush of blood and her breath escaped her mouth on a betraying sigh.

“Let me take you there, Emma,” Killian rasped, his arms circling around her body and holding her to him, his mouth planting hot, wet kisses up the front of her throat when her head tilted back involuntarily and a soft whine escaped her throat.

“N...No…” Emma choked out, stiffening her arms and pushing against Killian’s chest.

“Yes,” Killian nuzzled against her face, their noses pressed side by side, his breath laden with the stench of too much booze.

“We shouldn’t…” Emma sighed breathlessly when Killian nibbled her lower lip. Her hands smoothed up his shirt, fingers curling around the disheveled material of his collar, still askew from the tussle in the bar. Her skin itched for his touch, her judgement clouded by the sweep of his strong hands over the curve of her behind.

“So, make me stop,” Killian challenged weakly when he felt Emma’s grip on his shirt relax a little and her body arch into his. He flattened his hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer once more, pressing an open mouth kiss to the underside of her jaw.

“Stop,” Emma gasped, swallowing hard and feeling the prickle of his stubble against the bob in her throat. “Killian, stop.” Emma pushed once more against his chest, harder than before and Killian let his hands slip from her body as he took a few disorientated steps backwards.

“Don’t you want this?” He squeaked, his body raging with arousal and his emotions edging on the verge of anger once more. He frowned at her standing before him, staring down into the gentle ripple of the water filled pothole between them. When she didn’t respond, and the pounding of blood in his ears became too much, Killian snapped. “I want this! It’s all I have left.”

“Killian, we can’t…”

“Can’t what, Emma?” He raised his voice, her name on his lips changed from seconds ago when he was muttering it against her skin with passion. Now it was filled with a desperation that she recognised completely because she felt it too. “I want you, Emma. You can make me forget, if only for a few hours. Why won’t you do that for me?”

“Don’t,” Emma warned, the tears welling up in her eyes and burning until she blinked them away. “Don’t make this about you and what you need.”

“Why not?” Killian seethed. “I’m an addict, right? Are we not the most selfish people?”

“It’s not that,” Emma whispered, wiping away her tears with the heel of her palm.

“Then what, Emma?” Killian yelled, staggering sideways and stumbling backwards until his shoulders bumped into the cold brickwork on the opposite building. “Tell me,” he begged, his tone softening when he saw her tears spill over her cheeks.

“It’s what I want!” Emma screamed, her resolve breaking into a million tiny shards that mirrored the state of her heart. Killian was silent, his sudden intake of breath the only sound between them. “I want to get lost in you, Killian. I want to fuck you until I fall, and it scares me.”

“Why does it scare you?” He asked softly.

“Because you are already lost,” Emma sniveled. “You fell a long time ago and I am all that is tethering you to reality right now. I see it, Killian, but you don’t. And I am not sure how many more times we can chase away the darkness inside of us before I can’t get back.”

“And that scares you most?” Killian said sadly, slumping against the brickwork even harder and hanging his head limply.

“It doesn’t scare you?” Emma cried with a watery voice, small and meek from her tears.

“Of course it does,” Killian scoffed with a slight sway. He pushed himself from the wall, his head spinning a little as he struggled to stay upright. “I cannot fathom that you would think so little of me that you would believe I would chase the high of an orgasm without a single thought of what it was doing to you each time!”

Emma sniffed, pulling the material of her sweater down over her hand and swiping the rough material under her eyes and her nose. “Do you?”

“How can you ask me that? Of course I do,” Killian soothed her worries instantly without a second of hesitation. “It’s all I think about. In that moment, when the light floods in and I am at peace, I wonder if you have made it too, if you feel it too, if we are both together in the one place that finally makes us feel whole.”

“You do?” Emma said weakly. She needed to hear it again.

“I do!” Killian shouted exasperated. “Emma, I might be a drunk but I am not an utter bastard. I know you are hurting too, and you need to get there as much as I do. Why are you fighting it?”

“I’m scared,” Emma whimpered so softly Killian struggled to hear her child like voice over the roar of a car passing by the blocked off exit to the alley way. Killian looked at her, really stared into her eyes and when he offered her a feeble sideways smile she saw a glimpse of the man she had fallen in love with before he had been changed forever. She trusted that man, trusted that he would never hurt her and would make sure she was always safe. That was the Killian she wanted.

“I will bring you back,” Killian nodded slowly and took a tentative step towards her once more. “I promise, you will not get lost.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Emma’s lips were on his. She didn’t care that he was a slowly sobering drunk because in that second and with those words, he was her Killian again. And she knew, with the clashing of teeth and the surge of heat over her entire body, that he was right and he would keep his word.

“It’s bad form to lie to a lady,” Emma reminded him as she flattened her hands to his chest and pushed him hard, his feet struggling to stop his weight falling against the wall behind him with a grunt.

“I would never,” Killian shook his head and reached for her hands, holding them against his chest and pulling her with him as he fell backward. In a split second Emma’s hands were on the buckle of his belt, wrenching the leather through the metal fastening harshly as Killian dropped his sleepy gaze between them to watch her deft fingers at work on the button and fly of his jeans.

“Say it again,” Emma commanded, reaching into his boxers and gripping the hardness that had sprung to life there. Killian took a second to swallow, her actions and alcohol stealing his thought process before he finally snaked his hands between them and tugged at the fastening of her jeans.

“I promise,” he rasped, pushing the stiff material down her legs awkwardly and helping her free one leg by stepping on the material at her feet. Emma cupped his face in her hands, licking her lips and crushing them to his with a feverish intensity that had been building inside of her since she witnessed him strike another human being. It wasn’t supposed to be arousing, but damn if it hadn’t sparked a flame inside of her that had been snuffed out long ago.

Emma clawed at the back of his head, fingernails scratching through the soft hair that was standing to attention there, holding his face to hers as she kissed him eagerly. Killian parted his lips, a groan escaping from his throat, and Emma’s tongue immediately found his, brushing over the muscle and finding the ridges of his teeth with each swipe. Killian tasted so familiar in his drunken state that for a nanosecond Emma worried she might never remember what he tasted like sober ever again.

She yelped, her skin becoming tight over her bones and the pooling heat between her legs contrasting the chill of the foggy night. It was damp, the low cloud in the air surrounding them without warning, making it harder to breathe between kisses and the clashing of teeth. Charged with an urgency that made his cock twitch, Killian spun them around and back Emma towards the wall, hands roaming to the swell of her behind and lifting her into his arms before her back had even hit the bricks.

Emma’s legs wrapped around his waist, her jeans getting tangled up around her other ankle and almost tying her legs together at the base of his spine. Killian reached between them, sliding a finger through the liquid warmth that had become exposed by her opening of her legs and relished in the strangled gasp that came from deep within her when he found her clit.

“There’s my girl,” Killian rasped against her face, a playful smirk spreading across his features. Emma barely heard him, the ringing in her ears deafening as she felt his fingers toying with her nerve bundle, slicking over her juices and teasing her entrance with the tip of his solidness. He had let her slide down the rough wall, mindful not to hurt her, and slipped in just the tip of his throbbing erection.

“Don’t tease me,” Emma whimpered, clutching his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Where is the fun in giving you what you seek immediately?” Killian teased, rocking his hips forward until he was half buried inside of her. Emma’s back arched from the wall and she ground her teeth, jaw clenching and eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

“Just fuck me, Killian,” she begged, eyes opening to meet his darkened stare. Tiny beads of sweat had formed along his brow line, even in the cold night air, and Emma licked her lips salaciously. “I know you want this as much as I do.”

“You feel amazing,” Killian breathed, rolling his forehead against hers, skin sticking to skin and the gentle throb of Emma’s muscles pulling at him, begging him to go deeper, explore the depth of her with his hardness.

A door nearby opened, yellow light spilling out into the alley way and they froze, so close and yet so far from becoming one in the shadows. Emma slipped a little, impaling herself accidentally and clenched around him involuntarily when the sadistic burn of the sudden stretch made her call out his name. Killian clamped his hand over her mouth, shushing her quiet as the tips of his ears pinked and his legs shook from the sudden sensation around his erection. After what felt like an eternity the door closed again, the light disappearing and shrouding them in darkness once more. What breath they had been holding in was expelled and Killian released his grip, sliding his fingers down the chords of Emma’s neck and enjoying the feel of her quickened pulse pounding against his fingertips.

“What?” Emma purred softly when she noticed he was staring directly at his own hand loosely gripping her throat.

“I know how to make you feel better than you ever have,” Killian growled darkly. His grip tightened around her neck and Emma suppressed a squeak when he pulled himself out of her and then thrust his hips forcefully. He did it again, and again, the rhythm of his hips matching the thumping of Emma’s life force under the clutches of his fingers as he pressed harder against her neck, closing off her windpipe and ignoring the way her voice sounded so different as she begged for more.

Unable to see properly, Emma reached out to grab whatever she could find. A handful of hair, the shape of his ear, the collar of his shirt, anything. Blurring vision was nothing new to her as her pleasure peaked, but what was new was how with the deprivation of oxygen, Emma’s brain had somehow transported her into her euphoria much earlier than before.

“Don’t stop,” she squeaked, fisting a clump of Killian’s hair between her fingers and pulling his face to hers. Killian’s lips on her were like fire, branding her subconscious with the feel of bliss only he could provide. Her body went limp, pounded against the sharp edged bricks behind her by Killian’s relentless thrusts. There was no sound when she came, only the burn of his lips on hers as he kissed her slightly open mouth and the sting of his fingernails as they dug into the delicate skin of her neck.

Her rapture was there and it lasted longer than she had ever experienced before, the blinding white light she only ever saw a flash of taking over her entire being and transporting her to another place. She was deaf and she was blind but she was warm in this place, and she felt loved. In that moment she was free once more but dependant on the journey that got her there.

Emma knew in that moment that it would be much harder to get clean.

 

 

_Two months ago_  
  


There were certain times when Killian never went out to drink and those were the happier times, when Emma felt like they might be like they once were. His beloved soccer team’s semi-final match against their biggest rival was one of those times, however, he was never far from the bitterness of an alcoholic beverage. The game hadn’t even reached half time yet and he had already plowed his way through a six pack, the bottles still wet on the outside from the condensation that had not had time to evaporate.

It was a rare occurrence for both of them to be home at the same time. Killian often worked late, heading straight to Will’s bar, and if he was home early, Emma nearly always had a late shift at the precinct that meant they would not cross paths again until the next day. Knowing he would be home because of the game meant Emma could arrange this evening, spend some time together, just the two of them, and hopefully begin to mend the pieces of their relationship.

It wasn’t exactly that their relationship was completely broken, but neither could deny that it was cracking and coming apart because of their ignorance to their own destruction. But tonight, Emma had a plan, to secure the edges of their love before it split and frayed beyond salvation.

And it began with interrupting the half time interlude dressed in only lingerie.

“Oh, Killian…” Emma sang, walking down the stairs as silently as her bare feet would allow on the wooden steps.

“Hmm?” He grunted, gulping another mouthful of beer from a new bottle and frowned at some slow motion replay on the screen with a disgruntled noise.

“Are you busy?” Emma cooed sweetly, padding across the floor and letting her fingers trail along the back of the couch where he was sitting. She stepped sideways, her freshly shaved legs smooth as they rubbed against each other. It wasn’t the only thing that Emma had rid of all hair and her lips quirked up at the corners at the thought of Killian seeing her.

“No, It’s half time,” He mumbled against the cold, glass lip of the bottle in his hand. He was slouched back into the cushions, his shirt having been discarded in excitement over a goal, and his lounge pants slung low on his hips. Hair covered his entire torso, the droplets of water from the outside of his beer sitting in tiny bubbles on the thatch that poked out of his waistband, and as she walked past Emma couldn’t help but rake her nails over his shoulders.

“Oh good,” she purred, reaching the end of the couch and stepping into his peripheral . She knew he could see her. His stomach caved in from his intake of air and he almost choked on the swig of beer in his mouth, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and turning to look at her with a slack jawed expression.

“Fuck me, Swan,” he stammered, fingers gripping the bottle in his hand so tightly his fingernail beds turned pink under the hard surface.

“That’s the plan.” Emma sauntered around the couch until she was standing before him. He licked his lips and ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth, eyes roaming over her dressed in a brand new piece of lingerie he had never seen before. It was stunning, a blood red corset made of bone and lace that left nothing to the imagination, hidden underneath a sheer black long sleeve gown, but it’s most defining feature was a black lace halter neck choker that made Killian grin salaciously.

“Nice outfit,” he smirked, bouncing the balls of his feet on the carpet in front of him, fidgeting as blood rushed to his groin.

“Oh, this old thing?” Emma rolled her eyes, flicking her loosely curled hair over the back of her shoulder.

“That is not old,” Killian bit his bottom lip, his eyebrow bobbing up his forehead. He motioned towards her with the beer bottle, extending his arm.

“How can you be so sure?” Emma took a step forward, shrugging her shoulders and letting the gown silently flutter to the ground behind her.

Killian took another swig of his beer, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Emma the whole time. “I would have noticed,” he said smugly.

Emma tilted her head to her chin, looking down her torso, barely able to see her feet over the balconette bustier that so comfortably housed her ample breasts. “You like it?” She blinked, opening her eyes to meet his once more without lifting her head. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, turning the plump skin white as she bit down, and she swivelled her hips sideways.

Killian’s gaze drifted to the profile of her ass, the skin bare and the string of her thong disappearing between her cheeks. It took everything he had to keep his hand on the bottle and not reach for her curves, his fingers itching with the memory of how she felt under his touch. He flexed his fingers, rubbing his hand along his thigh and hating the way the cotton of his pants felt nothing like her skin. With one last chug of his beer the bottle was empty, and he swallowed hard, a tiny droplet escaping his lips and rolling down the lengthening hair of his beard. All he could do was exhale, hard and forced, his chest heaving in another breath.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Emma smirked, giving him a wink and slipping out of his view towards the stairs. He sat still, composing himself she was sure, until she heard the thud of the empty bottle against the coffee table and then silence as he switched the game off. Emma lifted her leg onto the first step, turning back to offer him a coy smile. “Are you just going to sit there all night?” She teased as she ascended the stairs.

For a man who was already half cut, Killian moved like a rocket, springing to his feet and bolting across the space between them in less than three strides. Emma squeaked, feet pounding the stairs as she ran, pulling herself on the handrail to increase her speed. When Killian stumbled she giggled and took advantage of the distance she manage to put between them, flying through their bedroom door and turning to face him just as she reached their bed. Killian made it to the door and leaned on the frame, muscles bulging at his biceps and breathing heavily, his hair flopped over his forehead, the grin he had been wearing now replaced with a feral, cat like stare.

He was stalking her like prey and Emma had never felt so exhilarated.

“You are a siren,” he said accusingly, reaching up to scratch at his almost full length beard. It sported a few grey hairs, streaks of white mixed in with his usual gingery hues that accented the silver that had formed over his pointed ears.

“And you are too slow,” Emma rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, hands on her hips. “Must be the grey,” she winked.

Killian took a step into the room, straightening up and reaching for the door. He wrapped his fingers around the hard, wooden panel and slammed it closed behind him, smirking when Emma jumped a little with anticipation. “Silver fox, right?” He whispered darkly as he approached.

Emma nodded, letting her eyes roam over his naked torso once more. Her skin hummed as he approached and a soft whimper fell from her mouth as she noticed his arousal tenting his pants. He stopped inches from her and his manly scent invaded every one of her senses immediately, making the blood pound in her ears and her core ache.

“Don’t they mate for life?” Killian purred, his breath hot on her face. He pushed his hands into the side of his loungewear, pushing the material down over his thighs and letting them pool at his feet. She swallowed hard, not caring that her plan had been turned around on her, and rubbed her thighs together to alleviate the tension between her legs.

Completely naked, Killian was exposed. It had been so long since they had played this sort of game, made love, seen each other naked even, and her eyes flitted over his scars. They were everywhere, littering his body and a constant reminder of what had happened to him overseas, and Emma had forgotten how many he actually had. She didn’t care, he was exactly how she wanted him, each divot, rippled and raised bit of flesh a trophy of how hard he had fought to get back to her.

Emma lifted her gaze, fixing her stare into the oceanic depths of Killian’s eyes. “Forever,” she whispered.

He paused, his heart stopping for a second as he comprehended her words. He looked away sheepishly and gulped. “After everything?”

“Killian, please, don’t,” Emma said softly, closing the gap between them and pressing herself against the firmness of his chest. Her fingers tangled themselves in his beard, curling into the wiry hair and gently tugging his face up to look at her once more. “Don’t. Not tonight. Let’s just…”

“I know,” He said with a weak smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re right,” Emma laughed, pushing herself from his body and watching his expression change instantly. It became more playful, his eyebrow jumping up on his face and his cock twitched back to life. “I should just…” She turned from him, still feeling his eyes burning into her back. She reached at her side and pulled down the zip of the corset agonizingly slowly, the clicking sound almost lost over Killian’s groan of frustration. “...take this off,” Emma dropped the barely there lace corset to the floor and peeked over her shoulder.

“Bloody Hell,” Killian ground out through a clenched jaw.

“And maybe this?” Emma hooked her thumbs into the waistband strap of her thong, teasing the material down over the curve of her ass and watching Killian’s resolve slowly disappear. He was so worked up she could practically see his heart thundering in his chest, vibrating his chest hair and making his skin come to life.

“Maybe I could help?” Killian growled, his feet planted to the floor, his whole body paralyzed when Emma bent over as she pushed the material to her knees, letting it go and fall the rest of the way unaided. She stretched forward over the bed and a moan tumbled from her lips when her nipples brushed the comforter and sent them into rock hard peaks. Emma slithered across the top of the sheets, careful to keep her legs closed, and gave him another sultry look over her shoulder.

“I can think of a much better way you can help me,” Emma purred, rolling over onto her back and palming her breasts. “Do you want to know how?” She cooed, beckoning him with a finger.

Killian just growled again, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he crawled up onto the bed and over her naked form. Emma sucked in a breath, carding her fingers into his beard again and leveling his gaze with hers. He hovered above her, his body not touching hers but both of them could feel the electricity radiating from their skin, shocking the others to attention. “I know exactly how,” he said teasing her bottom lip with his, offering her the softness of his lips only to tear it away at the last second.

Emma grinned, clawing the sides of his face and arching her back off of the bed, desperate to feel his thatched chest tickling her sensitive nipples. Killian moved back, denying her pleasure with a sly smirk. “Roll over,” he rasped, finally pressing his lips to hers, quickly giving her a taunting kiss that he knew would leave her wanting more. She chased his lips when he pulled away, pouting her bottom lip out with a sulk.

“You’re a bad boy,” Emma chuckled playfully as she turned, resting her body on its side. Killian moved into the space behind her, his erection rubbing the crease of her ass and his lips finding the skin of her shoulder, sucking the flesh into a purple bruise almost immediately.

“You have no idea,” Killian whispered, his nose nuzzled into the space behind her ear and making the hairs there stand to attention with his words. They were enough to send her body into a shiver that was only eased by the huge arms wrapped around her and his hands trailing down the curve of her breasts and over the jut of her hips. Resting completely in his embrace, head on his bicep and with no space between them, Emma felt more loved than she had in a long time.

“What are you going to do to me?” Emma begged, feigning innocence. She knew exactly what he was going to do, she had known from the second he pressed his body to hers and had ghosted his hand over her stomach, moving lower but never touching where she wanted him to the most. Killian inserted his hand between her clenched thighs and lifted her leg back and over his hip, the half excited half impeded moan that left Emma’s mouth instantly surging to his groin.

“I’m going to…” he began darkly against the side of her face, his breath almost louder than his words. Killian slid his fingers down her inner thigh, so close to her exposed bundle of nerves that Emma tried to clamp her thighs around his hand but Killian stopped her by pulling her leg back onto his hip.

“Killian, please,” Emma whined, moving his arm she was laying on so that he was cradling one of her breasts in his hand.

“I can smell you,” he said gruffly, kneading the flesh in his palm. “You are so wet I can practically taste you, Swan.”

“Please…” Emma writhed again, the tightness between her open thighs a cruel torture that only Killian could devise. He angled his hips and his length smoothed over her entrance, poking at her clit before he withdrew and the sensation disappeared. Emma gasped and Killian held her tighter, repeating his thrust but never entering her. The angle was perfect, the ultra responsive nerve endings just inside of her exposed to his assault every time he rolled his hips.

“What do you want, Emma?” He panted into her ear, his voice like fire, licking at her need and burning away her insides.

“You,” she almost cried, the feel on his length sliding over her entrance becoming too much too quickly. She was so close and he hadn’t even entered her yet. “I want you.”

Killian reached between her legs, enjoying the gasp from her lips as he purposely brushed the heel of his palm over her clit and helped himself in. Her warmth sucked him in, tight and slick, and it finally felt like they were on their way home. Only, as soon as he began to move, the darkness inside of Emma reared its head and her body cried out for more of the self deprecating behaviour she craved.

“Choke me,” she whimpered between his thrusts, turning her head to catch his eye. Killian slowed him movements, sweat beading his forehead under the flop of his fringe as he fought to compose himself. Even her slightest movements were sending him towards the brightness of climax and he was a little confused by her words, his brow knitting together and he shook.

“Are you sure?” He gasped, his balls tightening at the mere mention of her words.

“Do it,” Emma moved his arm from her bosom until his hand was on her throat, the relief washing over her instantly. She felt like she could finally let go, let herself bathe in the brilliance only he could bring her, and when his grip tightened, her eyes rolled back in her head and she felt her entire body go limp in his grasp. “Don’t stop until I’m there,” she told him firmly as he began to move once more.

“I won’t,” Killian promised through a grunt, hips pistoning into her. The hand around her neck grew tighter, fingertips creating a line of inevitable bruises, the pain receptors under each sparking to life. Emma’s mouth fell open even wider as she gasped, her lungs burning with every breath, the lack of oxygen sending her into a panic that translated into pleasure everywhere else in her body.

Killian doubled his efforts, muscles bulging around her shoulders as he pulled her head to his chest, eager to give her the enlightenment she desired. Emma felt faint, the edges of her vision blurring and the heaviness in her limbs disappearing. Her lips tingled and the feeling in her legs disappeared, travelling up her body until with a frown she could feel nothing else and was shrouded in black.

There was no light where she was.

No warmth or comfort, just bleakness and the cold.

The deafening sound of silence, the empty expanse of her mind engulfing her completely.

“Emma!” She heard Killian shout but his voice was distant and muffled like he was underwater. She was floating, specks of light pricking behind her eyes each time she heard her name. “Emma! Baby, wake up!” Killian’s voice grew louder and she felt herself get pulled into a different position, a huge flat palm gently tapping the side of her cheek. “Come on, Emma, come back to me.”

She gasped, like she had erupted from the surface of a lake where she was surely drowning, inhaling hard and coughing as her eyes flew open and she clawed out at nothing. She felt flesh and hair, her hand colliding with what she assumed was Killian’s face as she blinked her vision into clarity.

“Emma!” Killian screamed, his voice full of relief. He bundled her spluttering figure, somewhat tinier than before, into his arms, holding her across his lap and rocking her back and forth like he was soothing a child. “Oh my God,” he whispered, lips pressed to her hairline, the words muffled against her skin.

“What...what happened?” Emma rasped, her voice physically changed and deeper. She was confused and her head pounded with a migraine like nothing she had ever felt before. She winced, closing her eyes to block out the glow of the bedroom lamp overhead.

“I am so sorry,” Killian whimpered, almost crying.

“Killian…” Emma choked out again, ignoring the scratch in her throat as she swallowed awkwardly. “What happened?” She repeated, stilling his rocking motion when she tried to sit up out of his embrace.

“I...you…” Killian stammered, his breath hitching between words. “I…” he tried again, his face screwing up as his emotion got too much for him and his tears spilled out of his eyelids. He buried his face in his hands, the sounds he made similar to when he had found out Liam was dead, like an animal caught in a trap in the most excruciating pain.

“Hey, hey,” Emma grabbed his hands instantly, pulling them from his face and cradling his head in her hands. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her own voice catching in her throat.

Killian launched himself into her arms, pulling her to him tightly as best he could in their sitting position on the bed, and Emma felt the tension leave him on a breath. “I didn’t mean to…” he sobbed into her shoulder, licking the tears from his lips quickly and holding the back of her head like it was a precious stone. “You passed out, Emma,” he pulled back from her and wiped away his tears with the knuckle of his thumb, pushing the skin of his cheek across his face until it was dry. “What if you…What if I had...” He paused, pinching his eyes closed and chasing away the thought of losing her at his own hand. “We went too far.”

Emma sat in silence, looking at the panicked look of his confession, the searing pain of his still visible handprint branding her neck. He was right, they had taken things too far this time. They had been dancing at the edge of darkness unaffected for too long, their reward worth much more than the risks, only now they had fallen into the depths and there was no beacon to guide them home.

“I’m okay,” Emma assured him again but she knew it was a lie. Things had changed between them and she knew that they had to change.

 

 

_One month ago_  
  


For the last four weeks, there had been a tension between them. Emma knew it was her fault to a degree. She had pushed Killian too far, helped him cross a line he had promised he never would, all because she selfishly wanted her escapism in the form of her high. She craved it, still, but had forced herself to quit cold turkey from that day, the thick, purple hand mark around her throat a constant reminder of why. Killian had felt the most guilt, ramping up his drinking habits almost immediately, his rage increasing overnight with his feelings of inadequacy.

Emma had gone from seducing him to turning away, shying from his affections because she was petrified of needing more. She didn’t understand her addiction and couldn’t fathom how or when she had become so dependant on the release Killian could give her. All she knew was that it was something they needed to fix together but Emma was struggling to reach Killian and make him see that they needed help. Like any dependant, he thought he could fix things himself and they did not need the intervention of an outside party.

If Emma had only known how the rest of the day was going to pan out.

That morning they had talked a little about dinner and Emma had agreed to cook some sort of slow cooked casserole as it was one of Killian's favourites. A good, hearty, warming meal was just what they needed as the bitterness in the air had begun to creep in earlier in the evenings, Killian’s late night bar antics leaving him vulnerable to the cold. Alcohol had a way of tricking the brain into thinking the body was warm, so when he promised he would make a start on their fix by arriving home before dinner, Emma threw herself into prep.

When she heard the key turn in the door before nine that night, she smiled to herself, a real joy washing over her as she idly chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Maybe they could be saved after all.

“Swan?” Killian called, like so many other nights her had returned home. It was like he needed to hear her voice, make sure he had made it home and she was still there.

“In the kitchen,” Emma called back, fixing her gaze on the vegetable she was chopping, careful not to slip and cut herself. She heard him stumble in the foyer, grumbling to himself when he struggled to toe off his boots, and she lost her smile immediately. “How was work?” She called softly.

“Same old, same old,” Killian grunted, leaning against the dining table after he had appeared in the kitchen. His shirt was dishevelled yet again, his hair and beard unruly and as he shrugged off his jacket, Emma saw the pink tinge to his knuckles.

“How are your colleagues?” Emma prompted, averting her eyes back to her chopping.

“Chatty,” Killian bit out, evidently angry about something. It took everything Emma had not to turn around and comfort him the way she had been, the way they had been comforting each other, and as if reading her mind, Killian scoffed, a sound of disgust leaving the back of his throat in a guttural tone. “You want to make them stop?”

Emma stopped her chopping, resting the knife on the countertop and turning to face him, her arms folded over her chest and her feet crossed at the ankles. She was wearing just a pair of leggings, warm but practical with a pair of thick, slipper style socks and a small plain tee. She sighed a little, looking down at her wiggling toes. “You know I can’t do that.”

“That’s right,” Killian sneered. “You got better.”

“I didn’t get better,” Emma snapped, tightening her arms across her chest defensively. “I got wise.”

“Wise?” Killian laughed maniacally. “To me?”

“To us,” Emma said firmly, staring him down.

“Oh, I see,” Killian raised his voice, stepping towards her and wobbling a little on unsteady feet. “You don’t need your fix anymore so you don’t need me anymore,” he spat, jabbing an accusing finger at her.

“That’s not it,” Emma said calmly.

“Isn’t it?” Killian arched his neck, looking down at her suspiciously. “We don’t have sex anymore,” she shrugged, waving his hands around as if an audience was listening to him. “You haven’t kissed me in days, Emma. Fuck, we don’t even talk anymore!”

“We talk,” Emma nodded but he cut her off with another disapproving scoffing noise.

“Barely!” He squeaked, his volume rising a bit more.

“Look, it’s not my fault you are drunk all of the time! How am I supposed to talk to you, Killian? Tell me that. How am I supposed to talk to you when you are so full of rum you reek of the stuff!” It was Emma’s turn to shout now, her anger rising like bile in her throat.

“Oh, right, but it was okay for you to take what you wanted, huh?” Killian took a last step in her direction, his breath sour and bitter against her face as he shouted. “You didn’t seem to mind what I smelled like as long as you got what you needed!”

Emma barely lifted her head, looking at him with just the movement of her eyes. “Don’t,” she warned him, her voice low and her jaw clenched.

“Don’t what, Emma?” Killian boomed. “Don’t tell you the truth?” He laughed, shaking his head and little. “You get angry at me because you know I am right, and you can’t get angry at yourself. You are a fucking hypocrite, and you know it.”

“So what if I am?” Emma screamed at him, her cheeks flushing with prickles of red and her ear tips burning. He was standing so close to her she could practically feel him on her skin. “At least I realised it was wrong.”

Killian laughed, throwing his head back and planting his hands on his hips. It was a fake laughter, forced and evil, and it made Emma feel so small the sting of tears pricked at her eyelids. “Emma, you were willing to almost die to get your high. Don’t lecture me about what is wrong.”

“Drinking is not the same as sex,” Killian huffed. “You used me for your own emotional gain, and for what? Did it fix any of your damn problems, huh? Did it bring Liam back? No. We are still fucked up.”

A silence fell between them, the sound of their rapid heartbeats pounding in their ears on each breath. Emma stared at her feet, gripping the counter behind her for some sort of stability, Killian’s words cutting into her deeper than he probably realised. Killian moved first, stepping to the side with a disgusted shake of his head, and pulled open the cabinet behind her.

“What are you doing?” Emma snapped spitefully.

“Getting a drink,” Killian’s hand reappeared with a half consumed bottle of dark rum clutched tightly in his fingers. He slammed the door and Emma jumped, her eyes pinching closed and a feeling of dread seeping into her chest. She swallowed hard, watching the man she no longer recognised pull the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spit it across the room. He tossed his head back as he drank hungrily, finishing the rest of the bottle before he even needed to breathe.

“Is that necessary?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him.

“With all this judgement?” Killian quipped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Absolutely!” He sang, slamming the empty bottle on the counter.

“You’re a bastard,” Emma snivelled, the lump in her throat making her voice squeak and her lip tremble.

“Finally!” He roared, again addressing his invisible audience. “I was wondering how long it would take you to cry!”

“Fuck you, Killian!” Emma shouted at him, leaning forward and smacking him hard in the chest. She knew the wounds from the bar fight were healed in the upper layers but they had taken longer in the sub layers of his skin and they were sore. He winced, rolling his shoulder backwards to absorb some of the blow, but giving her a cock sure grin that sent her into a further rage.

“You don’t like to hear the truth, do you Swan?” He jabbed. “You know I am right and it tears you up that a fucking drunk can see what you can’t!”

“You don’t know shit about the truth!” Emma screeched, fists balled at her sides.

“I know you hurt, we both did, and I know that the only way you could make it disappear was to fuck. How _many_ times did we fuck for that reason, Emma? How _many_ times did you use me?” Killian stepped back into her space again, eyes roaming over her tight fitting clothes that accented all of the curves of her body. He reached out his hand and let his fingers rest on her hip but Emma stepped back.

“Get off of me,” she sobbed, her voice low and full of rage, her back hitting the counter as she pulled away.

“Come on,” Killian jeered, trapping her against the counter with the weight of his body. “Don’t fight me, Swan. I know you are hurting now,” he said sickly sweet, his eyes watching his hand as he ran his knuckles down the curve of her cheek to wipe away her tears. Emma turned her face away, her nose turning up when the smell of stale smoke and ales filled her nostrils. “I can make it go away.”

“Killian, no,” Emma said firmly, planting her hands on his chest but unable to move him backward.

“Just think about how it will feel,” Killian purred against the side of her face, fingers gripping her lower jaw and turning her face back to his. The fear in her eyes set him alight and Emma felt him harden in his jeans, his erection pressing into her groin and evident through her leggings. “I know you want to feel.”

“No,” Emma said again, her resolve firm. “Not like this.”

“This is exactly how you made me feel,” Killian growled, releasing her jaw and reaching between them to fumble with the button of his jeans. Emma’s breath hitched in her throat, heat and sweat tingling at the base of her spine with panic. He grabbed her hand and shoved it into his boxers, closing her fingers around his length and giving himself a few strokes, his blunt fingers digging into her wrist so hard she cried in pain as she tried to pull away. “Used. Worthless. Like nothing,” Killian grunted, stroking himself harder with Emma’s hand.

“You are worthless!” Emma shouted at him and he paused his movements, mouth agape and glassy eyes darkened with fury. She pulled her hand free and pushed against his chest again, his body giving a little under her assault which made him take a shaky step back. “You are nothing!” Emma spat.

“You ungrateful cunt!” Killian seethed, surging forward and grabbing her by the throat with both hands. Emma screamed in fear, cowering away from his touch and raising her arms to defend herself. “I gave you everything and you won’t even give me this one little thing!” He sneered, sliding his hands to her shoulders and spinning her away from him.

“Help!” Emma called out, her cries falling on deaf ears. It was Friday night and their neighbours would be out for dinner or some other such activity. They were alone. She was alone.

Killian leaned his entire weight onto her back, pressing his elbow into the space between her shoulder blades until Emma had no choice but to lay face down on the cold countertop. Her tears pooled under her cheek, Killian’s hand holding the back of her head so tightly and making sure she was trapped. “If you won't give it to me,” he slurred darkly, grabbing the back of Emma’s leggings and pulling them and her panties down over her behind in one rough action that made her flush hot with horror. “I’ll take it!”

Emma was dreaming. She had to be. There was no way that the man she loved and had loved for over half her life would do this to her. There was no way that Killian Jones would let himself be so blinded by resentment, be so livid, that he would take it out on the woman he loved. Emma was terrified, the events unfolding in slow motion and the sounds of his hateful rant overwhelmed by the buzz in her ears.

That was when she saw her reflection, looking back at her, eyes puffy and red, from the polished steel blade of the knife. She didn’t recognise the person she had become, a meek, mousy thing without the strength to find her own light, but she would be damned if she didn’t have the strength left in her to determine her own destiny.

Emma kicked out, taking advantage of a split second in time when Killian swayed backward again, his inebriation on her side. Her foot connected with something hard and she felt him let her go as he stumbled back, doubled over in pain. She bolted upright, tears blinding her wide eyes and hands shaking as she grabbed the knife from beside the pile of freshly chopped vegetables and held it out in front of her.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” She wailed in a quivering voice, her hair messed up and only still half in a ponytail. She was trembling from head to toe, her adrenaline off the charts and she struggled to find the breath she needed to say anything else.

Killian sank to his knees with his hands covering his partly exposed member that had began to shrink back into its flaccid state. He let out a groan, eyes tightly closed and chords of his neck straining to fight away the pain that had invaded his groin area. There was sweat across his brow and his face had paled. He opened his eyes, the clear blue back once more that made Emma’s heart swell with solace, and then promptly fell forward onto his hands and threw up a foamy, dark brown liquid concoction of rum and bile.

Killian coughed, the sound hacking in the back of his throat each time he alternated between clutching his stomach and his manhood, the dull aching sensation jumping from one to the other. He finally stopped retching and sat back up on his heels, exhausted and drained, arms hanging loosely at his sides and face wet from tears. Emma tightened her grip on the knife, fingers constantly repositioning themselves over the handle to get a firmer hold, but when Killian looked up at her with nothing but remorse in his eyes, she relaxed a little and let out a tense breath she had been holding.

He was pathetic, physically drained, a mere shell of the man he portrayed to the world. Killian was broken, a million pieces of who he used to be scattered all over the world. Some he had lost abroad, flashes of horrific memories imprinted on the back of his eyelids from service and an inner voice that never let him sleep. Some he had lost more recently, buried with his brother, never to return, just like the man he had called his hero. He blinked away his tears, his heart falling to his stomach when he realised he had finally hit the bottom of the bottle, the end of the road, and was at the lowest he could ever get in his miserable life.

There would be no coming back from this, the whites of Emma’s knuckles and the whites of her eyes evidence of her distress. How could he have let the demons win? How could he have been so weak? He had broken his promise, to Liam and more importantly Emma, and he in no way deserved mercy. He was now a slave to Emma’s retribution, the glint of the knife in her hand as she towered over him all he could focus on. He would willingly accept any punishment she saw fit if it meant she would spare him the ache in his heart he knew was coming.

“Emma, I…” he whispered through his tears.

“Get out,” Emma said darkly, tossing the knife back onto the countertop and reaching for her leggings, pulling them back up her shaking legs to try and regain some sense of dignity.

Killian’s chest heaved with another sob, his emotions on full display. “But I have nowhere to go,” he pleaded weakly, his beard dripping with foamy spittle and mucus dripping from his nostrils. He had nowhere, no one but her to run to, but he had crossed a line that not even she thought they could come back from. Emma looked at him and at what he had become. What she had let him become.

“This is so hard,” Emma snivelled, wiping her nose with her forearm. She knew what she had to do, even if it meant a sacrifice neither of them would have ever made before.

“Emma, no,” Killian implored, shuffling on his knees through the patch of cold, putrid sick between them but not even caring. “It doesn’t have to be,” he panicked, reaching out for her.

“Killian…” Emma sobbed, looking away.

“Emma, please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me,” Killian cried, his words catching in his throat, watery and muffled from his sorrow. He clutched at her legs and through the fabric of her leggings he felt Emma turn rigid under his touch.

“Killian, please, this is already hard enough,” Emma pushed against his shoulders weakly, her hands moving of their own accord to lace her fingers through his ruffled hair and pull his face against the warmth of her body. She felt him sigh, his cries filling the room, the cries of a man she didn’t even recognise anymore.

“Emma…” He began but she cut him off quickly.

“Look at you,” Emma cried. “This isn’t you. I can’t watch you destroy yourself anymore,” Emma sniffed, pulling his face from her sweater and tilting his head so he was looking up at her with wide, watery, childlike eyes.

“I’ll get help. I promise, I’ll get help,” Killian nodded in desperation.

“I don’t want to give up on you…” Emma told him softly.

“So don’t,” Killian interrupted her eagerly, his chest shuddering with another rack of sobs.

“You scare me,” she cried, the honesty in her voice shocking even her. Killian looked up at her and he was small, innocent and as much a victim of his own actions as she was, but he would never change if she didn’t find the strength. “I have to go, Killian,” Emma smiled weakly down at him, her tears falling down her cheeks. This time she did not stop them, letting the salt filled droplets fall from her chin. She brushed her thumb over the apple of his cheek and wiped at the tears that had burn lines into his scruffy, unkempt stubble littered face. “You can’t mend with me here. I can’t help you anymore.”

That night Emma walked out of their home, away from the blackness in her heart and the turmoil that had torn them apart for the last seven months. She didn’t look back, taking just a few personal items and the clothes on her back. She didn’t kiss him goodbye and he didn’t try to kiss her, because they both knew that if they had the faintest of contact it would set the fires burning within them once again and they would be back where they began, scrambling for the surface under a sea of sorrow.

This wasn’t her home anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. Now New York was calling her name, a city full of lights where she could get lost and bathe in the eternal brightness of being nobody forever.

 

 

_Five Years Later_  
  


Killian hated the meetings. He hated the way other people hated themselves because it felt like it belittled the way he despised himself. There were no words that he could ever have used to describe how rotten he felt, right down to the core, disgusted with his actions. He carried his shame around with him daily but he didn’t mind, because the sobriety chip he always kept in his pocket was far more important to him. It kept him grounded, reminded him of what he had lost but also somehow gained. There had only ever been one other thing as important in his life, but she had seen him for what he truly was and had left.

It was his turning point, the fork in the road, and luckily he had made the right decision and got clean. It would have been so much easier to have fallen back into a bottle, swam around in the bitterness of alcohol but he would have eventually drowned. So he went to the meetings, he told his story and the room of other addicts applauded him each and every time, and he couldn’t help but wish he wasn’t going through it alone. He wished Emma was there with him, to see how far he had come, but the guilt he carried for how he had treated her never let up and whilst he knew she was living in New York, thanks to Will, he was too contrite to find her.

Emma was adamant that he get help and despite her leaving him to do it alone, he figured it was the last thing he could have done for her to prove to her he wasn’t anything like the monster he had become.

“You come here often?” a voice said from beside him, making him jump a little. The hot coffee he was stirring with a tiny wooden stick sloshed out of the styrofoam cup and over his hand making him almost drop the cup in his haste to shake off the boiling liquid.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” The woman said hurriedly, grabbing a handful of the provided napkins and dabbing his hand without invitation. “Are you okay?”

Killian took the napkins from her and rubbed at his hand, the skin red and sore almost instantly. He stared at the mark, an oddly shaped blemish that resembled a hook, and frowned. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he said with a weak smile. “Hollye, right?” He offered her his hand after wiping the coffee from it down the leg of his jeans.

“Yeah,” she smiled back with a ruby tint to her cheeks. “Killian, right?” She pretended she didn’t know, letting her hand linger in his a little longer than intended.

“I am, thank you” he nodded, slipping his fingers from hers and returning to his half spilled coffee. “I’m not very good at making these, but would you like a coffee?”

“Please,” she smiled again, leaning on the table and cocking her head to one side. She was dressed to impress it seemed, her very low cut top exposing more than enough cleavage to make any man blush or salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs. She glanced behind her to make sure the other attendees were helping to clear the chairs before sucking in a breath. “I’m sorry. I know we are not supposed to form relationships outside of these things…”

“Relationships?” Killian visibly winced at her words, squinting an eye closed as he offered her the coffee cup. It was only half full lest they experience any more accidents, with a little wooden stirring stick poking out of the plastic sip lid. She took the coffee, clutching it with both hands and looked down at the wispy steam escaping from the lid clearly embarrassed. “Look, I’m sure you are a very nice lass,” he offered her quickly, dipping his head to catch her gaze and giving her a smile. “I’m just not…”

“Oh, of course,” Hollye shrugged, straightening herself up and pulling at her top, trying to cover up a little.

“I mean you no offense,” Killian said softly.

“She must be a very lucky woman,” Hollye said with a forced smile, trying not to sound too jealous over a woman she didn’t even know existed.

Killian laughed, the sarcastic chortle making him shake his head. “It was I who was the lucky one,” he said sadly. He shifted his weight, looking down at his own coffee which he swore bore Emma’s resemblance in the honey coloured crema.

“Was?” Hollye prodded with a frown. “I’ve heard your story. Was that her?”

Killian nodded. “Aye,” he blushed with a sigh. He had lost count of the times he had relived what had happened that night, in his nightmares and in the meetings. Each time things got easier to talk about, but it still shocked him to the core when a new member would gasp at his revelation, unable to hold their judgement.

“You still love her, don’t you?” Hollye smiled knowingly. Killian looked up and met her gaze, the upturned corners of her lips reminding him a little of the way Emma used to smile.

“I do,” he said without hesitation. “I always will.”

“Have you asked for forgiveness?” Hollye’s words hung on Killian’s mind. One of the first stages of recovery from any addiction was asking for forgiveness from the ones you had wronged. They didn’t have to absolve you, that was their choice, but there would be no progression in your recovery if you didn’t ask. Hollye took in Killian’s million mile stare. “I think you should.”

“It’s not exactly as easy as that,” Killian looked down again, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking a sip of the foul tasting bitterness the meeting organisers tried to pass for coffee. “I’ve only seen her twice since she left.”

“And what did she say?” Hollye prompted with a sip of her own cup, the sour liquid burning her tongue.

“Why am I even telling you this?” Killian chuckled, suddenly embarrassed. “We don't even know each other’s surnames.”

“And yet, you know how I walked the streets giving out hand jobs for a twenty and I know how you nearly raped your girlfriend because you were drangry,” she said with a ‘so there’ look.

“Drangry?” Killian cringed as he said the word. It sounded wrong in his mouth, clearly not recognised by any officiating language body. Hollye had seemingly made it up on the stop.

“Drunk angry. So drunk you are angry about everything. Drangry,” she clarified like it was obvious and took another sip of the coffee. “So tell me, what did she say?”

“Nothing,” Killian looked away sheepishly, the prick of red covering the tips of her ears. “I said I’ve only seen her twice, as in _seen_ her. From afar.”

“Oh, you mean like a stalker,” Hollye teased and his head snapped up to give her a confused look. “Was you hiding in the shadows? Maybe nearby whilst she visited the grave of a loved one?” Hollye laughed but Killian did not join her, because by some miserable coincidence, she was right.

The first time he had seen Emma, he had thought he was imagining things. It was a year after she had left and when he had visited Liam’s grave on his birthday, there were fresh yellow flowers laid over the ground in front of the headstone with a small note that read, ‘See you tomorrow’ on it. The groundskeeper had described Emma exactly how he had remembered her and when he had returned the next day, skulking in the shadow of a nearby tree, she had appeared like a daydream come to life.

The next year he expected her return and sure enough, right on time on what would have been Liam’s birthday, she appeared again with a bunch of yellow flowers and sat at the grave for hours. She talked about a man named Graham, about how he made her happy and even though he wasn’t exactly the person she imagined spending the rest of her life with, she thought Liam would approve of him. That was the last time Killian saw her and he told himself that he was still new to the recovery process and he should stay away, all the while seething with jealousy and hatred for a man he had never met who had given her happiness when all he could have given her was more pain.

“Oh Lord, you did, didn’t you?” Hollye giggled, half scandalized by his silent admission. “You stalked her over the grave of a loved one!”

“My loved one,” Killian huffed. “My brother.”

“Oh,” Hollye lost her smile, her joviality fading immediately. She had been listening to Killian’s story for long enough to know that losing his brother was the start of his decline. “I’m sorry.”

Killian gave her a quick sideways smile. “You didn’t know,” he said quietly. “No harm done.”

“Isn’t it your brother’s birthday next month?” Hollye nudged his hand with hers, bringing him back to reality. She lifted her cup to her mouth, closing her lips over the warmed styrofoam and blowing gently over the surface of the coffee. It rippled and bobbed against the side of the cup, threatening to splash her face. When Killian gave her a strange look she just shrugged. “Do you even listen to anyone else’s story at these things, or do I have to do all the hard work for both of us?”

“I listen,” Killian pouted.

“Then you will also know it is Liam’s birthday next month,” Hollye emphasized his brother’s name and Killian staved off tears at the upcoming event. It was hard, it always had been, but even more so since he had been sober. There was temptation everywhere he looked, obvious and subliminal, but what really gave him the most turmoil was fighting the urge to see Emma again. In a way it was a welcome distraction, only it was becoming more and more difficult knowing she was in the same town at the same time every year and he hadn’t seen her for three.

“You should ask for forgiveness,” Hollye repeated, interrupting his thoughts.

“You’re a good person, Hollye,” Killian smiled, offering her his hand. She took it, shaking their joined hands up and down between them with a smirk.

“I’ve been called worse,” she winked.

 

 

_One month later  
_  

Emma came home every year for exactly two reasons.

Her adoptive parents still lived in the town so she used the time to visit them, making sure that they were doing well and managing in their increasingly elderly state. They were older when they adopted her, having already had children of their own, but never being the sort of people to turn away a stray. Emma’s adoptive brother David tried to find the time to meet her at home, but he was busy and often it was just her. Not that the Nolans minded, because Emma was happy and that was all they had ever wanted her to be.

Secondly, Emma had never found peace at the passing of her friend, Liam Jones. He was taken from her life too soon, cruelly, and she had struggled with his loss for many years. When she had moved away she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling deep within her that meant she missed him terribly. New York felt like half a world away so to relieve the build up of anxiety, each year she would return home and visit his grave.

She tended the site, weeding and making sure that it was kept spic and span. Liam was a military man and so would never have wanted anything so messy representing the man he once was. Emma bought him flowers, always the same sunshine yellow Chrysanthemums because Liam always used to say that they reminded him of her. They were a happy flower, despite their association with mourning, and Emma always smiled when she saw them.

So far, each visit had gone without a hiccup. Until today.

When she approached Liam’s grave, there was already a huge bunch of bright, yellow chrysanthemums piled on top of the freshly weeded patch of grass in front of his headstone. The flowers were fresh, each petal tightly fixed in place, the crimped edges of each to tight to blow in the slight breeze. Emma frowned and looked around, but the graveyard was deserted, no other visitors catching her eye. She looked back to the flowers and noticed a card. Her brow knitted together in a quizzical expression as she knelt down and plucked it from the still tied bunch.

_“Granny’s. 7pm.”_

Emma’s breath left her and the hair on the back of her neck prickled to life, straining against her skin. It had been five years without a single word, but she would never forget the slightly italic, old world handwriting of Killian Jones.

In the time it had taken her to regain her composure she had returned back to the Nolans humble home and was greeted at the door by the enthusiastic Will. Will was almost five years old, not planned but not loved any less, and ran at her with an excited squeal as he called her name. His hair flopped over his eyes as her ran, feet pounding the hardwood floor of the hallway and almost jumped into her arms as she crouched to greet him.

“Mommy!” Will sang, leaping before he even reached her with utter faith that she would catch him.

“Hey lightning bug,” Emma chimed, setting him on her hip and brushing the lightly curled hair from his face. When she did, the blue of his eyes shone through his smile, his cheeks flushed and his words catching on his breath as he tried to tell her all about his day.

“We were playing pirates!” Will said, wide eyed and excited. “I was the Captain! And we walked the plank! And there were sharks if we fell into the lava!” He squeaked rapidly, his tiny lungs filling up between each sentence.

“Lava?” Emma quirked her brow, looked at him and trying to hide her smile. He nodded, a big grin on his face.

“But I didn’t fall in, did I?” Will almost arched his entire body towards the man approaching them, leaning out of Emma’s embrace with outstretched arms and a cocky grin on his face.

Graham was tall, broad and had the most amazing demeanour Emma had even known. She smiled as he walked towards them in jeans and a causal tee, his hair the same floppy brown style as Will’s and a warming smile that made her feel at ease. They even shared little habits. Will’s face when he was in trouble mirrored Graham’s when he was in her bad books and they both pulled the same face when they tried to bend the truth.

“No you did not, Captain,” Graham shook his head, saluting and going along with the boy’s story. “There was that time you pushed me in though,” he grunted, pulling Will into his arms.

“You said you wouldn’t tell!” Will gasped, giggling when Graham jabbed his fingers into his sides and wiggled them, instantly causing Will to almost bend in half and wriggle in his arms.

“So you had fun without me?” Emma asked softly, her heart swelling with joy as her son hit the ground running, calling out for Papa Nolan as he tore off along the hallway and ignored her question. Emma watched him go, only looked back to Graham as he rounded the corner and bounded out of sight, the Nolans cat fleeing under a nearby armchair just like she always had when they visited.

“Not intentionally,” Graham beamed, touching her elbow as he leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss, his hand slipping down her forearm and gripping her fingers. “How was it?” He knew that she visited Liam every year and that she always had to do it alone. He just wished sometimes that she would let him in as much as the dead man.

Emma shrugged, her smile fading with the reminder. “The same. I talked, he listened,” she said sadly.

“Did you tell him everything?” Graham asked her, his features suddenly flashing with a sense of nervousness, his voice lowering slightly as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “About us?”

Emma looked up at him and slipped her hand from his. “I did,” she said solemnly and Graham offered her a weak twitch of a smile. “It won’t be long,” she promised him, flattening her hand to his cheek and rubbing her thumb over his skin there. “I promise.”

“I don’t like lying,” Graham whispered, leaning closer to her. “The Nolans are good people. I feel like a fraud.”

“You are not,” Emma told him firmly. “I am the one lying to myself, and you, and I promised, the day I found out I was pregnant, that I would never be that person again.” Despite his best efforts, Graham would never be the man Emma yearned for him to be and whilst she never regretted a single moment with him, and loved each and every memory they had made together as a family, she had vowed to never settle for enough.

She and Graham had spoken at great length about their imploding relationship and they had decided to part on good terms, share custody of Will and work at being the best parent figures they could be. They would always be there for him, in any capacity, but they also had another hurdle to leap. The Nolans. Emma’s adoptive parents loved Graham like a son and after so long they had almost adopted him as their own, so they both knew that telling them would crush them completely. They had agreed to both come home, visit family of all kinds and then tell everyone later on.

“It’s still hard, you know?” Graham told her in a hushed voice. “Pretending,” he clarified.

“I know,” she said apologetically. “But Will doesn’t know yet, and I haven’t told my parents,” Emma sighed. “I can almost hear Mamma Nolan’s voice now. _“What did you do? He was a good man!”_ She imitated her adoptive mother’s voice so closely that Graham laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“I am a good man,” he grinned boyishly.

“Yes you are,” Emma told him firmly just like she had done a thousand times before. “It’s just…”

“I know,” Graham told her softly. “I understand, I really do. I’m just going to really miss Will, you know?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Emma smiled reassuringly. “I would never keep him from you, you know that.”

“Thank you,” Graham just about had time to say out loud before said child came running through the house again, Papa Nolan in tow, a feather sticking from his silvery hair and a little plastic archery set in his hands dwarfed by his size.

“Indians!” Will yelled, a high pitched scream following as he tore past them and out the back door into the yard.

“Okay,” Emma laughed, watching her adoptive father sneak past them emitting his own high pitched noise and patting his palm over an open mouth. “You boys have fun!” Emma called after them.

“Are you going somewhere?” Graham frowned at her words and fiddled nervously with the belt loop of his jeans. Emma blushed a little, looking down at her feet before diving her hand into her pocket and pulling out the card. She looked at it one more time before handing it to Graham.

“This was on Liam’s grave,” she said gently. “For me.”

“Is this from him?” Graham said with a little too much resentment, the tone in his voice one he couldn’t hide. Emma had never lied to him about her past, any part of it, and she knew that one day this moment would come. They had both expected it a lot sooner. “Are you going?”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma reassured him quickly, taking the card from his hand before he set it on fire with his angry stare. She took his hand in hers and when he looked up at her she gave him a small smile. “It will be okay. He just wants to talk.”

Graham blinked at her with a twisted smirk. “How do you know that?”

“I know him,” Emma nodded firmly. “Tell Will I have gone to see Belle, okay?” She smiled quickly, checking her watch and realising that if she didn’t leave now she would be late for her impromptu meeting. When she looked back up, Graham’s face was etched with agony. “Words are all he has left. I have to go and talk to him.”

“Be careful,” Graham warned but his worries were extinguished when Emma cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. “I worry.”

“Don’t.” Emma reached for the door behind her and pulled it open, mindful to be gone before Will came back through from the yard. “I’ll call Will at eight to say goodnight.”

When she reached Granny’s Diner, the hub of their hometown, far earlier than the card had invited her to meet, Killian was sitting in their usual little booth already. He was sitting browsing the menu, a fruitless task seeing as they had spent most of their teens memorizing the items word for word, but it seemed he welcomed the distraction. His leg bounced up and down under the table and he wiped at his brow, checking his watch every few seconds just in case it had decided to run slow.

He looked good from what Emma could see from the doorway, having snuck in behind another patron to avoid the ringing bell alerting him to her early presence. She felt like a stalker, watching him from the shadows of a doorside booth, staring at the back of his head as she worked up the courage to approach. He had cut his hair and shaved, leaving his trademark length of stubble that was a little more silver than she remembered now he was approaching his forties. The hair on his sideburns was more white than black now and a sparse peppering of black littering his hairline.

Emma wasn’t going to lie, he was hot. He had put on a little weight, his cheeks filled out when she saw his profile turn to check the clock above Granny’s bar area. Maybe it was the parent in her that found his new look so appealing, the classic dad style of his casual black sweater tight over his muscles making her swoon a little, or maybe it was just seeing him after five years telling her what she had always known.

Killian Jones was, and always would be, the man that made her tingle, set her skin ablaze with passion and she missed him like the deserts miss the rain. It was wrong, she knew that, but she couldn’t stop loving him, even after everything that had happened. After everything that was said, he still knew her better than she knew herself, and was the only man who could ever show her the light.

“Are you going to stare into the back of my head all night, Swan?” he called out to her over the almost deserted diner as he kept his gaze fixed on the menu in front of him. He smirked to himself when he heard her get up and make her way to him, the hot chocolate in front of him topped with cream and cinnamon. Emma slid into the booth opposite him, a fixed stare on her face as he slid the mug towards her.

Emma looked down at the beverage and reached for it instinctively. “How did you…”

“You were always early,” he interrupted her with a smirk. “I assume you still like hot chocolate with cinnamon on top?” He arched an eyebrow at her, his boyish smile sending a shiver straight to her gut.

“You look good,” Emma mentioned nonchalantly and took a sip of her cocoa, licking her lips and wiping the smudge of cream from her nose.

“So do you,” Killian smiled, ignoring the fact she had dodged his question. Maybe she didn’t want to make small talk and that was fine with him, because he just needed to hear her voice to know that she was okay, and when her cheeks flushed with pink at his words, he knew she was.

“How was work?” Emma watched him over the rim of her mug, the slightly cooled liquid level reduced enough from her sipping to be able to see him over the cream now. It was a loaded question and she knew it.

Killian took a sharp breath, not expecting her to dive straight in with the hard questions, but he gave her a genuine smile that finally felt natural. He lifted his hand and lightly scratched the skin behind his ear, a habit he had always had. “Work was good. Has been for about three years now,” he said softly, his fingers picking at the dog eared menu in front of him.

“And your colleagues?” Emma pushed, setting the mug back down in front of her. Maybe it was cruel to ask him such a question before other pleasantries but she needed to know that she hadn’t sacrificed her happiness for nothing.

Killian simply smiled and it was serene. “Gone,” he told her proudly. Killian had managed to get help and medication to quell the voices in his head and therapy had helped him understand how to deal with how he was feeling. The more he understood about why he had been on such a self destructive path, the less they said to him and the more they faded away into the background. “I’ve been off my meds for six months now. Certified as normal as can be.”

Emma coughed at a sip of her drink, almost spitting it back into the cup. “I bet you still stir your tea clockwise though,” she teased, her lips finally spreading into the kind of coy smirk he had missed so much.

“I do,” Killian blushed, his British accent somehow as prevalent as ever in those two words. His family has migrated for work, but both him and Liam has never lost the accent of their mother tongue. It had always fascinated Emma to no end how certain things that he had done whilst they were together were so quintessentially British, but above all else, the insistence that tea be stirred clockwise had sealed the notion that he was certifiably insane firmly in her mind forever.

“So normal,” she mocked once more like they had never been apart. A silence fell between them, the clinking of mugs from the washing up area not even enough of a distraction. Killian twisted his lips into a sideways pout and fiddled with the menu some more, crossing and uncrossing his legs under the table, mindful not to bump Emma’s knees. Emma looked around, taking in the decor of the diner that hadn’t changed in at least twenty years.

“Liam loved yellow chrysanths, you know,” Killian said suddenly, breaking the silence with a common ground. “He always said they reminded him of you.”

“The flowers?” Emma frowned at another of his Britishisms.

Killian chuckled lightly. “Yeah, the flowers,” he blushed.

“I bring them every year,” Emma told him, tilting her cup and noticing the mixture of melted cream and cinnamon powder lurking in the bottom. “But you know that.” She looked right at him, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug idly as she stared into the hue of his eyes. She had missed it, the darker circle around the blue that shone like the brightest sapphire when he was happy and was as dark as the depths of the ocean when he was aroused. He didn’t look away, holding her gaze unashamedly.

“I missed you the first year you came and the groundskeeper described someone who can have only been you, so the year after I came back.”

“You didn’t say anything,” Emma pried softly, prompting him to continue.

“I couldn’t,” Killian admitted shyly. “I was still such a mess, I just hid in the shadows after…” he paused, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“After?” Emma cocked her head to the side.

Killian let out a breath with exasperation. “Graham,” he said with a spiteful tone and Emma looked away. “I heard you talking about Graham and how happy you were and I was nowhere near mended. I couldn’t talk to you. I would have just made you regret coming back, and I would never do that to you. Liam meant as much to you as he did to me so I couldn't give you a reason to stop coming to visit him.”

“I would never…” Emma began but Killian interrupted her with a little more force than he intended.

“I would have probably said something I would have regretted, and it would have been selfish of me to put that sort of pressure on you,” he gulped, swallowing the distaste of compunction down his throat. “Again.”

“Oh, Killian,” Emma said softly, reaching across the table between them and clutching his hand in hers. He stilled at her touch, something he had missed like oxygen once it had been denied him for so long, and stared at their hands. His heart took off in his chest, banging against the curve of his ribcage and made the base of his spine tingle with delight. Emma offered him a comforting smile but he quickly tore his hand from hers.

Killian froze, palms flattened to the table in front of him as images of him assaulting Emma flickered behind his eyes. He pinched his eyes closed, his breathing becoming shallow, and tiny beads of sweat oozing from his brow. It was a panic attack, plain and simple, and he had encountered enough to know that it would pass, but he couldn’t help his bodies reaction to Emma’s touch. He felt like he didn’t deserve her compassion, in any form, and the tiniest touch had sent his body into an episode.

“Killian?” Emma asked mildly, confused by his sudden reaction. She had encountered her own fair share of attacks to know what he was going through and immediately moved around to sit at his side, shielding him from view of the other diner goers and laying her hand over his. “Killian, come back to me,” she whispered, her body pressed against his and her mouth so close to his ear that her voice was all he could hear. “Shhh, breathe.”

Her voice was faint but Killian heard her as clear as day through the fog in his mind. He felt the warmth of her hands on his, the softness of her lips against his ear and her breath on his neck, and a relief washed over him immediately, his lungs filling with cool air as he deepened his breathing the way his therapist had instructed. When he was finally able to move, Killian clutched her fingers, lacing them with his as he resumed his steadying breaths. Emma rubbed her thumb over his, watching the profile of his face as his brow relaxed and he peeled his eyes open once more.

“I’m sorry,” Killian whimpered, his body relaxing back in the seat.

“Don’t apologize,” Emma said firmly. “You are still clearly working through some things.”

“Just one,” Killian laughed nervously, the adrenaline from his attack making him shake a little. He turned to her and swallowed hard, looking down at the rip in the green leather between them. “Would you…” he began, fidgeting.

“Go on,” Emma nudged him with her elbow and he looked up at her shyly.

“Part of the...process...is asking for forgiveness,” he began, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “And I know I don’t deserve it, and I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a single thing, not after what I did to you…”

“Killian,” Emma stopped him, grabbing his forearm and flattening her palm to his cheek. He gasped at her touch again but this time he felt a warming calm flood over his entire body, the anxiety chased away by a new kind of light that he had never seen or felt before. It was heavenly.

“Hmm?” he grunted sheepishly.

“I forgive you,” Emma smiled warmly. Her thumb brushed the apple of his cheek and his lips twitched, mirroring her smile back. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she repeated, sliding her hand behind his head and pulling his head towards her until their foreheads touched. It was as intimate as they had ever been, honest and raw and Killian’s hand flew up to cup her cheek in his hand. He felt Emma relax, his anticipation of her fleeing long gone.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed. “Thank you,” he whispered and he meant it with all his heart.

 

_One Month Later_  
  


Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to this. Maybe there was some divinity to the whole process, but it wasn’t just Killian who had been addicted, and when he had asked her if she wanted to go to a meeting with him, she had said yes. Graham had returned to New York, leaving Emma and Will another month at the Nolans, but tomorrow they were flying home and the thought of not being able to say goodbye because Killian had gone to a meeting was selfish. So Emma had agreed to go with him when he had suggested it, both of them knowing it was going to be some of the last moments they would spend together for a while.

The room was just like her own meetings, a church hall rented out to the organisers for a small donation that probably wouldn’t go very far. It wasn’t a sit in a circle type meeting because everyone in this one was a veteran addict, mostly around the same age who had all fallen into some sort of crisis. For some it was drugs, for most it was alcohol and as they skimmed over their introductions, Emma felt like she might have been the only person there addicted to sex.

As she had explained a thousand times before in her story that it wasn’t about the act itself. It was always about finding the numbness of climax, the light beyond the shadows, where she had felt safe and free. But as everyone in front of her nodded in agreement with her statements like a faithful congregation, she couldn’t help but feel Killian’s eyes transfixed onto her and burning into her flesh. Meetings were a place of brutal honesty and she never divulged his name, but that didn’t stop the tuts and head shakes of disgust.

If only they knew the villain of her story was sitting within their flock, a wolf amongst lambs. Emma wondered how they would have reacted to realise that their judgement was actually hypocrisy, and the very same repugnant responses to Killian’s story were about her and how she had dragged him into the light with her. She was happy now, and Killian’s smile told her he was too. But then Emma mentioned she had a son, the new light in her life, a welcomed addiction that she never wanted to quit, and the whole room smiled with her.

Except for Killian. His face paled and he shifted in his seat, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed almost audible. As she caught his eye, the anguish plastered across his face at the new knowledge that Graham had given her yet another thing he never could, she knew she had given him hope and then snatched it away again, but there were no secrets at these things. And it was something that she couldn’t hide anymore.

“A son?” Killian said from behind her as she wrinkled her nose at the pitiful array of donuts on offer. The coffee was bad enough, but why they insisted on plain, unsugared rings of dough was beyond her.

“Are we all addicted to sugar too?” She scoffed, poking one of the offending treats and avoiding his question entirely.

“We can’t have nice things,” Killian laughed, wrapping his fingers around the coffee cup in his hands.

“Clearly,” Emma frowned, selecting the biggest donut from the half empty box. It was cold, heavy and when she bit into it, there was no familiar crunch of sugar on her teeth or dusting on her lips, but she licked at them anyway.

“How is it?” Killian teased, sipping his coffee and trying to hide his smirk.

“You know it's disgusting,” Emma said quietly and grabbing a napkin to spit the almost undercooked dough into. It was bland, tasted like flour and water on her tongue and she had to get rid of it immediately, wiping the napkin down her tongue, balling it up in another and tossing it into the provided trash can next to the table.

“Try the coffee,” Killian suggested with a restrained chuckle. “It’s...just as bad,” he sighed.

“Thanks,” Emma retorted sarcastically.

“So, a son? Why didn’t you tell me?” Killian asked softly, his words genuinely intrigued and not laced with the anger Emma had expected. She finally looked up at him and he smiled back at her, head tilted to the side and an expectant look in his eyes.

“I didn’t know how to?” Emma asked, questioning her own words.

“I mean, I have no right to expect anything from you,” Killian clarified quickly when he sensed he had made her a little uneasy. “Least of all to wait for me.”

“You wanted me to wait for you?” Emma asked gently.

“Selfishly, yes, at first,” Killian revealed with a nod. “But then I realised that you were right. I needed to mend, we both did, and our grief for Liam was something we had to do alone.”

“Becoming a mother changed me overnight,” Emma said with a happy grin. “He’s amazing and I followed the path laid out in front of me because of him.”

Killian shifted his weight, inhaling hard and peering down into his half filled coffee cup. “Do you think…” Killian paused, eyebrows knitting together on his face. “...In another life, you would have waited?” He asked awkwardly.

Emma paused, her cheeks prickling with the heat of a blush.

“Never mind,” Killian shook his head, dismissing his words. “It’s selfish of me to ask that.”

“In another life,” Emma said firmly, sucking in a shaking breath. She reached between them, brushing her fingers over his, the most intimate they could be in a public meeting that discouraged relationships between attendees. Killian watched her fingers with a stilled breath, his entire body buzzing, his skin tightening over his bones and his mouth going dry. “Maybe in this one.”

Killian’s head snapped up to meet her gaze, the tears behind his eyes threatening to soothe the sting along his eyelids. His eyes searched hers, flickering over the leafy green hues that were accented by the crinkles in her skin at their corners from her soft smile. He didn’t know what to say, struck silent with her admission that could mean any one of a thousand things. The one he hoped for lingered on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask her for another chance, but the sobriety chip in his pocket burned into his skin through the cotton and told him he didn’t deserve her.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Emma asked gently, rousing him from his thoughts. “I know a place that serves real donuts,” she joked, shooting one last disgusted look at the flimsy white box beside her. “And coffee,” she said quickly. “Real coffee,” she hummed, almost able to taste the smoothness of citrus notes on her tongue.

Killian grinned at her, a boyish, wide open mouthed grin that was accompanied with a sound from his throat like laughter. “Alright,” he agreed, tossing his coffee into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

The roadside diner was just outside of town, away from the familiar prying eyes they never could seem to escape by coming home. It was nice to see everyone, but sometimes they were just too invested in other people’s lives and Emma had discovered this diner as a means of escape. It was close enough that if she got called back for Will she was near but far enough out that she felt separated from the constant questions and stares. And they served donuts to die for.

It was like any other diner, like they were all set out in a generic way that made Emma think they were all owned by a single person. The countertop was black marble and even so late in the day it consistently clinked with the contact of plate after plate as orders flooded out of the kitchen. The floor was a green tile, speckled with white and with an orange pattern in the center that resembled a color blindness test card, and was polished so much Emma could see her reflection. The walls were the same shade of green and the leatherette sofas in the booths and on the bar stools matched the orange tone of the floor pattern, two huge ceiling fans whirling around above the walkway to keep the place cooled.

Spotlights lit the bar area, a constant drip of coffee from the machine next to the cash register cathartic to watch. Emma had spent many hours on one of these stools, timing the drips of coffee in her mind and awaiting a refill from the server as she contemplated her life. Graham had come into her life in a moment of great need, but he had been different from Killian, and she had warmed up to him as a friend before anything else. She tested him, made sure that she was what he wanted, and gave him the chance to escape on more than one occasion, but he had stayed, resolute and steadfast when she had tried to push him away.

_“Just go. I can’t give you what you want.”_

_“I just want you. All of you.”_

_“How am I ever going to be enough? You know what I am about, what I have been through. How can you expect to love me when I can’t love you back?”_

_“I’ll take my chances.”_

In a way, Emma regretted letting him stay. She had been nothing but honest, telling him that he was never going to be the man that she loved, and for that she was sorry. She didn’t regret their relationship, because it was built on a mutual respect, and he did love her, but it wasn’t fair that she let him carry the weight of their relationship alone. It had taken him nearly five years of never hearing her say ‘I love you’ before Graham had finally snapped, deciding that she was right and he couldn’t pretend anymore.

They hadn’t fought, not in front of Will anyway, and were separating on good terms. They had agreed that he would go home to New York ahead of her and Will, packing up his stuff and moving out of their house and their lives. They would explain things to Will another time, but they both had faith that he would be okay with it as much as they were, and they would both still love him just the same. Now that Graham was officially moved out, Emma felt like she could breathe again, a strange sensation that she hadn’t felt since leaving Killian, but one that she had missed every single day.

They sat down to order, sitting opposite each other in one of the way back booths so they could talk a bit more privately. Killian looked around the diner as they sat, taking in the photographs of local heroes and aged newspaper clippings that were framed on every available wall surface. Clearly the place saw a lot of celebrities and the owner seemed to be a little bit of a cinephile, old movie posters and signed memorabilia scattered all around the place.

“You come here a lot?” Killian asked Emma as a waitress took their order of two coffees.

“Sometimes I come here to think,” Emma shrugged, arching her back into the leather bench and letting out a groan.

It hadn’t escaped Killian’s notice that the waiting staff knew her by name and they knew how she took her coffee too. “Sometimes?” He quipped, arching his eyebrow at her.

“Okay, so I think a lot,” Emma grinned, glaring at him playfully.

“About Graham?” Killian prompted selfishly. He hated the man, his name on his tongue like a poison in his mouth, but he respected that Emma was satisfied.

“Sometimes,” she whispered noncommittally.

“Does he make you happy?” Kilian couldn't stop the words as they fell from his lips, screwing his face up and expecting an earful of abuse for his cheek. Emma looked up at him aghast and he quickly shook off the feeling of dread he had because he had to know. “It’s all I have ever wanted for you, Swan.”

“He did,” Emma stared into his eyes, readying herself for her confession. “We are seperated.” Killian frowned, confusion etched across his face. He knew she had come to their hometown with Graham, but it did explain how she had managed to get away to meet with him so often in the last eight weeks. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sorry,” he lied.

“Liar,” Emma smirked. “It’s okay, really. You know you have to be happy to move on, and I was for a time. Now I am not. It’s really that simple.” Emma shrugged a sigh and brushed a stray hair from her face, letting the rest tumble over her shoulders. She had decided to wear her hair down for the meeting, maybe subconsciously because she knew Killian had always liked it that way, which was confirmed when his eye flickered to watch her hand toy with the golden tresses.

“As long as you are okay,” he smiled warmly. “So why New York?” Killian asked her, changing the subject to something he had always wondered. New York wasn’t a million miles away, so he knew she wasn’t running away from anything, and it always left the door open for him to visit, something he had resisted for so long.

“Who said I lived in New York?” Emma narrowed her gaze at him, wondering if she had inadvertently mentioned something in the meeting. She didn’t remember telling him, or even letting it slip over Liam’s grave, but then she was hit with a realisation that made her sigh and Killian laugh.

“Will,” she said with a groan.

“Will fucking Scarlett,” Killian said with a nod. “Can’t keep his mouth shut that lad. Never could,” he laughed.

“And what were you doing in Will’s bar, huh?” Emma accused, thanking the small, blonde haired waitress who had poured their coffees.

“Drinking water,” Killian told her with a knowing look. “Which is boring, by the way.”

Emma giggled, reaching for her mug. The coffee was boiling hot, the ceramic burning her fingers as she pulled it towards her without a visible wince of pain. “But I bet your breath smells fresher,” she mocked.

“Indeed,” Killian blushed a little, lifting his coffee to his lips.

“New York was just somewhere I could be nobody for a while,” Emma admitted. “I needed to heal as much as you but I suppose, if I am being honest with myself, I didn’t want to move too far away. I couldn’t...” She looked down into her lap. Honesty was the best policy, or so they said. “I needed to still be close to you.”

She looked up at her admission and Killian felt the pang of guilt in his heart. “Because of...you know?” He asked gently, not wanting to mention her dependency too much. It was good to talk about things, they had both learned that the hard way, but old wounds didn’t need to be reopened unnecessarily. Emma was an addict too, and he was her drug of choice. She nodded sadly. “And now?” He pushed, watching her shift in the seat.

“Now I just…” Emma lost her words, sitting forward in the booth and pushing her arms across the table until their fingers were almost touching. She could swear there were sparks between them when Killian didn’t move away but instead mirrored her movements and sat forward in his own seat, the leather groaning under his weight.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” Killian finished for her, reading her mind and almost whispering the words. He pushed his coffee mug aside with the back of his hand and reached for hers, sliding it out of their way. He bunched her hands up in his, lifting them to his lips and planting a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles, letting his lips linger as he inhaled her scent.

“I shouldn’t,” Emma told herself out loud but her words didn’t match her actions when she kept her hands exactly where they were, savouring the feel of his mouth of her skin after so long. She felt a tickle in her stomach, the dropping sensation followed by a welcome feeling of delight that was so familiar and yet different. It wasn’t like before, when they were both slaves to each other’s mercy.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Killian began, but as he tried to pull his hands away, Emma stopped him, fingernails digging into his flesh that made him stare in her direction dumbfounded. Her face had changed, softness appearing around her eyes as the barriers she was holding up melted away and there was something else behind her eyes that he had never seen before. It was understanding and unselfishness and before he had time to ask her what it meant, Emma was pushing herself to her feet, grabbing his soft, woolen sweater and pulling him to her across the wooden surface of the table.

Her lips crashed into his and Killian’s mind exploded, eyebrows jumping up his face with surprise and his entire body paralyzed to respond. She paused, her lips on his, waiting for him to react, the grip loosening on the material of his sweater when she thought he wouldn’t, but when she heard the soft moan come from way down deep in his chest, she smirked coyly against his mouth and slid her tongue over his lips as they parted.

“Come to New York,” she whispered, their noses pressed side by side, her hand jumping to trace the silver of his sideburn with a single finger. Her eyes fluttered open and met his, the longing reflected in both of their stares.

There was nothing Killian could do but nod, a steady bob of his head that earned him another chaste kiss. Emma knew it wouldn’t be easy, they would have to contend with a long distance thing for a while, but she had faith they could make it work. There was just one more tiny detail she had to iron out, but that would have to wait until she was home.

 

_One Month Later_  
  


“Where are you going?” Will asked in a sing song voice, his legs bumping the edge of Emma’s bed as he swung them against the divan base. He fiddled with one of his cars on his lap, his focus on the wheels and how fast they could spin rather than the frantic way his mother was trying to desperately pick an outfit.

“I told you, baby, Mommy has a date,” Emma said nervously. She hadn’t said the words out loud yet, especially not to her son, and as she pulled hanger after hanger from her wardrobe, she felt a little bit hopeless.

“What are you doing?” Will asked innocently, switching his position and rolling the car along the edge of the duvet.

“Trying to pick an outfit,” Emma frowned to herself, discarding yet another on of her dresses aside. She didn’t want to wear anything that would give off the wrong sort of information. She and Killian had met up twice since she had come home four weeks ago, him travelling to New York both times, but they had only been to dinner and a movie, holding hands and agreeing to take it slow. They wanted to start fresh, as odd as it seemed, because they both felt like brand new people with a new outlook on life that they both respected about each other.

“Why?” Will sang, extending the syllable out with a cheeky grin. Emma turned and looked at him, the small child hiding his cherub like smile behind a clenched fist. She pointed an accusing finger his way and narrowed her eyes.

“So I can look good for my date, lightning bug,” she approached him and held out two of the dresses in her hands, laying them over the front of her body one after the other. “Which one looks good? This one? Or this one?” Emma flicked the dresses one after the other, pulling a funny face and twisting her body dramatically until Will was in fits of infectious giggles.

“I don’t know!” He laughed, falling back on the bed and then wiggling upright almost instantly.

“Well, you have to help me pick! How will I know I look pretty if my favourite guy can’t help me decide?” Emma teased playfully.

“You always look pretty,” Will beamed, his rosy cheeks squishing up his eyes as he grinned at her. Emma softened and hugged the dresses to her body, an audible squeak escaping her mouth as she made a cooing noise. She closed the distance between them and sat beside him on the bed, ruffling his hair and brushing his wayward curls from in front of his eyes.

Those eyes. They were the bluest eyes Emma had ever seen with a sea green tint when the light hit them from any angle. They were not like hers, or like his father’s, but instead a whole new shade of azure that she could get lost in for hours, full of kindness and love that she knew would never leave him. He tilted his head back and let her fiddle with his hair, the car on his lap clutched in his hands as he gave her a angelic smile. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“Yeah, lightning bug,” Emma nodded sweetly, wrapping her arm around his skinny frame and pulling him to her. “I’m perfect.”

“Mommy?” Will asked her, his voice muffled and a little strangled from how hard she was hugging him.

“Yes, baby?” Emma let him right himself, tugging his shirt back into place for him.

“What’s a date?” Will frowned.

“Oh, well…” Emma began but the sound of the doorbell made them both look towards the doorway at the shrill sound echoing through the house.

“I’ll get it!” Will screeched, hopping from the bed and pounding his rubber soled shoes on the hardwood floors as he made his way to the top of the stairs.

“Be careful!” Emma warned him, racing after him and making sure he was grabbing the spindles of the staircase banister with every step. She knew who it was at the door, so she wasn’t worried about Will answering it. She knew he would stop if she had told him to, but she also knew he would be so excited to see who was on the other side she let him go.

“Hey, buddy!” Graham fell into a crouch, arms wide open at the doorway ready to receive a hug.

“Grah-Grah!” Will screamed, the old mispronunciation still sticking with them both and a kind of in joke that only they understood. Will had never called him dad, daddy or dadda, but through listening to his mom he had managed to form the sound of a ‘G’ and, ever the genius, put his own juvenile twist on it. The kid was smart, and sometimes it was scary.

Will threw himself into Graham’s arms and he picked him up with a growl, rubbing the stubble of his beard into the soft skin of Will’s neck and making him laugh. Will stiffened in his arms, struggling to escape as Graham tickled at his side at the same time, the boy finally turning floppy and dangling upside down.

“What are you doing upside down?” Emma teased him, turning her head half sideways to ask the question when she had finally caught up with them at the bottom of the staircase. Will just laughed, clutching Graham’s hands, his face turning bright red. “Thank you for doing this,” Emma told Graham sincerely, straightening herself back up and pushing her hair from her face.

Graham let Will slip from his grasp and watched him run off, his little legs stumbling over his feet more than once as he giggled and dove onto the couch. “No problem,” Graham smiled at her, pulling his shirt back into position and sucking in a breath. “We are going to have fun,” he announced a little louder so that Will peeked at him over the back of an overly large cushion.

“Really,” Emma reiterated. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just promise me you won’t bring anyone back here,” Graham said quickly, his voice a little darker. He looked away from Will for a second to meet her gaze and sighed. “I don’t want random men around Will.”

Emma stepped back from him and swallowed hard. “What business is that of yours?” She snipped, folding her arms over her chest and straightening her back until she seemed taller.

“Do I know him?” Graham prodded, ignoring her question.

“Again, what business is that of yours,” Emma repeated with a sarcastic tone, her eyes flitting to the twitch of the muscle in his jaw.

“It’s Killian, isn’t it?” Graham sighed, looking down at his feet and planting his hands on his hips. “You wouldn’t be this defensive over anyone else.”

Graham was right and Emma hated that he knew her better than she gave him credit for. Emma looked over her shoulder to make sure Will was not listening but when she was intent he was otherwise occupied with something on the television, she whipped her head back to Graham with a rage she hadn’t known she was holding in.

“How dare you,” she barked, her voice so low only they could hear it.

“So it is him,” Graham smirked triumphantly. “I knew it.”

“What gives you the right to tell me who I can go on a date with, huh?” Emma poked him hard in the chest until he looked back up to meet her eyes. “We are not together anymore, Graham, you know that. Will knows that. I thought we were past this.”

At the mere mention of Will’s name, Graham ground his teeth and held back the words he really wanted to say. He leaned forward and extended an arm towards the lounge, pointing at the small boy sitting on the couch, eyes transfixed on the TV in front of him. “That boy in there gives me the right, Emma. I’ve been there for him, for you, and I’m sorry that was never enough for you but I love Will and he deserves to know...”

“He knows,” Emma spat, interrupting him and making Graham move back in surprise. She knew exactly what Graham thought he could use as some sort of leverage, but it wasn’t going to work. The second she had found out she was pregnant Emma had vowed to never lie to the life growing inside of her about anything and he might be young, but Will was smart. He understood more than Graham gave him credit for.

“Forget it,” Graham shook his head and held up his hand dismissively. “I tried to be understanding about this. I tried to be the bigger man, for Will, but there has always been this disconnect between us, Emma. I will never understand why, after everything he did to you, you love him so much.”

“No, you won’t,” Emma said stiffly, her entire body rigid with determination. “Now go. If you can’t handle this, then walk away,” Emma told him calmly. She reached behind him and yanked the door open, the wooden door jumping free from the frame with a squeak she had never fixed.

“Fine,” Graham growled. “I hope you enjoy your life, Emma. I won’t be around to pick up the pieces this time.”

When he slipped out of the door, Emma knew it was for the final time. She had expected too much of him for too long, and just like any normal human being, Graham had not been able to handle the friendship that followed a failed relationship. They thought they could be friends, for Will, but it seemed Graham was of the jealous ilk and would never change, only hold a grudge. That wasn’t the sort of person Emma needed in her life, and it was not the sort of role model Will needed.

“Mommy? Where did Grah-Grah go?” Will looked confused, his tiny frame standing in the doorway of the lounge with sadness plastered on his face. Emma pushed the door closed and sighed, turning to face him with a forced smile.

“Grah-Grah had to go,” Emma told him softly, moving to scoop him up in her arms. She held him tightly, kissing his temple and inhaling the scent of his children’s body wash that made him smell like candy.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Will pouted sadly. Emma hugged him tighter shaking her head with a sigh.

“It’s just me and you now, lightning bug. Me and you.”

Without a sitter, Emma was stuck. Graham was her last chance to actually go on a date tonight, and since he had decided he couldn’t handle seeing her with another man, she had no choice but to call Killian and cancel. Unfortunately for her, Killian had taken an earlier flight to New York and was already in town, so instead they had decided to spend the evening in and order a pizza.

He had arrived earlier than expected and she was just putting Will to bed. After agreeing to give her a few minutes, Killian had perused the lounge, taking in the decor and looking at the photos that Emma had adorning the mantlepiece. Most were of Will, a small wisp of a boy with barely any body fat who had a brown surfer style hairdo that sat in a heap of curls on his head. His eyes were almost emerald blue in colour, darker than Emma’s but not quite as green as hers and Killian figured he must have inherited them from his father.

As he moved along the photos, there were a few of a trio that caught his attentions. Emma was cuddling Will on her lap as a toddler, his hair much blonder back then, and a tall, handsome man had his arm around the two of them. He had a short, cropped hairstyle but his mousy brown locks were unmistakably curly and his eyes a deep blue. Killian felt a pang of jealousy invade his heart, the happy family photograph something he had always dreamed he would have with Emma.

“That’s Will,” Emma said from behind him and Killian jumped a little, mouth open like he was about to say something. “And Graham,” she said a little more darkly.

“I was just looking,” Killian defended his snooping immediately, the warmth of a blush creeping up the skin of his neck.

“I should take them down,” Emma said idly, moving through to the kitchen and pulling a drawer open to fish out a few takeaway menus.

“Did you get Will to bed okay?” Killian offered a change in subject and moved to the couch. He heard Emma clattering around in the fridge, jars and bottles clinking together in the door as she pushed the door close with a click. He heard the twist of a bottle and as she appeared with two beer bottles in her hand, he stared at her in shock.

“Don’t worry,” Emma assured him with a grin. “They are alcohol-free.”

Killian grinned at her, taking the bottle, the outside wet in his palm. He scooted sideways on the couch and Emma dropped into the space beside him with one leg tucked under herself. “And Will went off without a hitch, thanks for asking.”

Killian took a swig of the non-alcoholic beer and savoured the taste on his tongue, the familiar bitterness of hops and bubbles coating his mouth and offering him instant refreshment. He hadn’t had a drink since Emma had left, alcoholic or not, but he had learnt that it was never the taste he had been addicted to in the first place but the freedom to get lost in the effects of being drunk. He didn’t ask why Emma had non-alcoholic beers in her fridge but he figured it was just to avoid the constant reminder of their past from her life.

“We can go out another time,” Killian suggested softly, turning his body sideways so he was facing her. His elbow dug into the back cushions of the couch and he rested his hand to her hand, smiling at her sweetly. “This is nice actually,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Just the two of us.”

“You forget the little person upstairs,” Emma rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and pointed to the floor above them, earning her a chuckle from Killian who couldn’t stop his hand tangling in her hair. Their little touches had become more frequent and left her with a greater yearning each time that grew stronger and stronger each time he was in town. Emma nuzzled her face into his hand and turned her face until she kissed his palm.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked her gently.

“Just tired,” Emma assured him. “It’s been a long week.” Killian arched his eyebrows at her in agreement, holding out his bottle until she bumped hers against it. They both took a sip of the ice cold beer and smacked their lips together afterwards.

“It’s over now,” Killian told her in case she had missed the start of the weekend. “And I’m here now, so you know, it’s a million times better.” He grinned boyishly and gave her a wink, earning him a pathetic slap to the chest.

“My hero,” Emma mocked, instinctively leaning into him like old times. He felt softer than she remembered, his chest aged and changed with a weight gain that she didn’t find unattractive at all, and she moved her hand until it was resting against the edge of his open collar. She spied his chest hair jutting out from his shirt and couldn’t stop a giggle as it tumbled from her lips.

“What’s so funny?” Killian wrapped his arm around her, holding her to him and letting his thumb stroke the side of her arm. It was nice to hold her again, her skin so familiar under his touch and yet so different, changed by years of hardship and courage. He tried to look down at what she was seeing, but he couldn’t look past the jut of his chin.

“You’ve gone grey,” Emma teased, plucking at the white hairs erupting from his shirt.

“Not only there,” Killian laughed. “Things are a bit snowy down south too.”

“Oh my god,” Emma cackled, burying her face in his shirt to hide her amusement. Killian laughed with her, unashamed by his admission because it put a smile on her face which was what he pretty much lived for nowadays.

The last three months had been a lot of long distance texting and phone calls late at night, a lot of flirting and even more innuendo that when they were together got pushed aside for a more subtle and intimate time together. They held hands and they snuggled, enjoying the warmth and security of each other’s embrace, something they had never had before. They had agreed to take things slow, much to Emma’s aggravation, but she respected his reasoning and reluctance to make love to her again so quickly.

However, she felt like she was drowning on dry land and if the rains didn’t come soon, she would most certainly would do something drastic.

“I’m scared I am going to end up looking like a polar bear,” Killian said, his thumb poking into the top of his beer bottle.

“Want me to do a quick recon of the situation?” Emma cooed sweetly, lifting herself out of his embrace and taking stock of his almost school boy look of panic. “Purely professionally,” Emma shrugged with a wink.

“But you are the sheriff,” Killian narrowed his eyes at her and tried to force himself not to smirk too excitedly.

“I’ve had special training,” Emma purred, pushing herself up onto her knees and moving to straddle his lap. Killian reached beside them and set his beer bottle on the table beside the couch before planting his cool hands onto her hips and holding her in place across his lap. They had already got to this stage last time, stopping themselves from going all the way like some horny teenagers abstaining from each other, but this time she was ready.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked her softly, resting his head back on the back of the couch.

“I’m ready,” Emma whispered against his face, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her hands and smirking against his parted lips. They were so close, breathing the same air and she felt the heat on the tips of his elfen ears under her fingertips.

“You are?” Killian gulped, his cheeks turning crimson and his hands increasing their grip on her hips as his eyes flitted between hers and her mouth. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and he sucked in a breath when he felt Emma grind down onto his lap.

“I am,” Emma nodded, rolling her forehead against his. Her voice was deep and scratchy like she had been shouting all day, and she let her hands slip from his face and began to unbutton her blouse.

Killian shivered, his stare glued to her hands as they nimbly worked the buttons through their holes. His heart took off in his chest, racing to keep the blood flowing to his extremities. He flexed his fingers against her hips, thumbs rubbing over the jut of the bone and felt himself get hard as he watched Emma undress. She was going so slowly that Killian had to shift his weight to relieve some pressure in his pants, her weight rubbing the solid length of him through his jeans and making him groan low in his throat.

Emma kissed his mouth, lips sliding sideways across his face and over the apple of his cheek. Killian’s head lolled backwards, his eyes fluttering closed as Emma’s kisses were seared into his flesh, the skin under her lips igniting with every touch. She kissed his ear, nuzzling the skin behind it with her nose and then trailed her tongue down his neck, kissing back over the same area to wipe away the wetness she had left. Emma sat back a little, tugging her arms out of her blouse and Killian gasped, sucking in a quick breath that made Emma stop suddenly and pull back.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked him gently, her finger hooking under his chin and lifting his eyes to hers once she had discarded her blouse. Killian was almost despondent at losing the sight of her ample cleavage, but he did not resist her, nodding with a warm smile.

“Aye,” he croaked.

“We can stop at any time,” Emma told him, her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. She pulled and twisted the buttons through the holes until she was at the bottom, pulling the edges apart and gasping at the sight she had missed so much. He was just as hairy as she recalled, scattered white hairs intermingling with the black just like on his head, and she felt her core clench at the sight. Killian sat forward and helped pull his arms free from his sleeves, both of them settling back into their original position sans their shirts and hands brushing against bare skin that had been calling out for the other for years.

“I just want us to be happy,” Killian whispered against her lips, their faces almost touching once more.

“I’m happy,” Emma smirked flirtatiously, arching her back so that her breasts were cradled at his eye level once more, the flesh heaving in her bra with each ragged breath she took.

Killian shot a glance down between them to where his jeans were painfully tighter and he chuckled shyly. “So am I,” he growled.

Emma surged forward, grabbing his face and pulling his lips to hers. The kiss was slower than before, soft lips and languid tongues massaging each other as they groaned into each others mouth and hands roamed over every patch of exposed skin they could find. Killian pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, the vibrations from her groan sending a shiver down his spine and causing his stomach to fall away from him.

“Bedroom,” Emma mumbled and looped her arms around Killian’s neck as he grabbed her ass and lifted her up into his arms as he stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her body into his, the planes of his chest and the tickle of his chest hair just as delectable as Emma remembered.

“Which way?” Killian stumbled towards the stairs, almost falling over when he tripped on some discarded toys at the the side of the couch. Emma laughed in his arms, shaking her loosely curled golden locks over her shoulder and sucking on her bottom lip. Killian looked at her, flushed and wanton and knew he needed to hurry before he came from her sultry teasing alone. “Which way, Swan?” He demanded with more haste, his fingers snapping her bra open and pulling the material down her shoulders.

“End of the hall,” Emma panted, holding on to him for dear life as he ascended the staircase, cursing under his breath when he stood on a squeaky floorboard and Emma hushed him midway along the landing. “Careful!” she giggled, burying her face in his neck to try and stifle her laugh.

“Shhh!” Killian paused outside of her bedroom door, slamming her into the wall with a force that made her squeak in pleasure. He dipped his head, kissing the underside of her jaw and leaving hot, wet kisses in his wake as he travelled lower, tongue darting out to taste the swell of her breasts.

“Mommy?” Will called out groggily from his room and they froze. Killian had managed to shake his jeans half way down his thighs and his erection was poking Emma in the inner thigh, the adrenaline rushing through both of them with the fear that Will’s bedroom door was about to open. Emma grabbed Killian’s shoulders and made him stop moving, pressing her finger to his lips as he gave her a wide eyed stare.

“It’s okay, L-Bug,” Emma called out in a soft whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

They paused, waiting for the sound of a small child walking across the bedroom but no sounds came from Will’s room. Killian’s arm muscles burned with the burden of holding Emma aloft, but he couldn’t help himself and pulled one of her nipples into his mouth. The nub pebbled instantly against his tongue like it had never been anywhere else, the taste of Emma’s skin making Killian growl.

“God, Killian…” Emma whimpered, eyes fluttering closed.

“I think he’s asleep,” Killian whispered into the valley of her bosom, sliding his tongue over the plump mounds as he moved for the other nipple. Emma pushed her back off the wall and encouraged him to suck harder, fingers carding in his hair and gently tugging on the soft, dark mass between her fingers.

“One more second,” Emma pleaded, her body betraying her words.

“I don’t think I have a second,” Killian laughed, his voice hoarse and his legs shaking from staving off his release. “I need you. Now,” he grunted into her ear, rolling his hips against hers and pinning her to the wall.

Emma knew as soon as they crossed into her bedroom things would change. They were no strangers to each other’s bodies, knowing each other more intimately and emotionally than anyone could ever have known. They had been through so much, shown each other the worst that they could be and driven each other into the lowest depth of despair, but that would never happen again.

Killian was falling in love with her all over again. The way that she moaned under his kisses, the shiver in her muscles and the breathless way she called his name like only he could make her. They fell into each other, hardness and softness combining in the sweetest ecstasy, their bodies pressed together so closely that Killian wasn’t sure where he ended and Emma began. He would never forget the sounds she made as she came, her fingers clutching the comforter above her head and the gentle waves of contracting muscles rippling up and down his length sending him into the light directly after her.

They were giving each other a second chance to right their wrongs, starting with tonight.

Killian stayed the night, which was odd, waking up with Emma asleep across his arm again. At first he thought he was dreaming and last night hadn’t happened, but then she stirred and raked her fingernails down the expanse of his chest hair, her toes curling over the shape of his calf, and he smirked to himself. There had been no frenzy to the way they made love, each savouring the other like a fine wine or a culinary delicacy that they would only experience once, and with a content sigh, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

“What time is it?” Emma mumbled against his chest, her eyes rolling around behind her eyelids.

Killian smiled at her groggy state, craning his neck to press his lips to her hairline. “It’s just after six,” Killian said, whispering because of the early morning. Emma’s eyes flew open in a panic and she scrambled to the edge of the bed, leaning over the edge with a grunt and grabbing his shirt. She pulled herself back onto the bed and tossed the material at him, brushing the hair from her eyes with a heaving breath.

“Get dressed!” Emma screeched in a hushed tone, clutching the comforter to her chest and covering herself up. “Quick!” She urged him with wide eyes, waving a hand towards the en suite.

Killian frowned at her and his hand jumped to the patch of skin behind his ear. He was blushing and he couldn’t hide that it was because she was naked, even more glorious in the rising light of day than he had remembered. “Why? What’s wrong?” He fretted, pulling his shirt on hurriedly and searching the floor for his boxers. They had been discarded in a hurry last night and he wasn’t exactly sure where they had ended up.

“Will!” Emma said quickly, locating his boxers and tossing them across the bed towards him.

“Will?” Killian caught his underwear and hopped from one foot to the other as he put them on. “What does your son…” Killian began but just as he had managed to pull on his boxers, the door flew open and a rather sleepy child barrelled into the room. He was dishevelled from sleep, one of his pant legs caught up around his knee, and he was missing one of his socks. He rubbed his eye with one hand and dragged his bear with the other seeming to ignore Killian altogether as he clambered onto the bed.

“Hey, L-Bug,” Emma chimed nervously, pulling on an old t-shirt she had found in one of her drawers. Killian looked at it hard, recognising it as one of his old college tees that he had lost a long time ago but Emma brushed off his puzzled expression with a nudge of her head towards the door. “Did you sleep well, sweetie?”

The only sound Will made was a grumble, the sleep unsuccessfully rubbed from his eyes as he crawled into Emma’s bed and snuggled down into the duvet. He nodded into her pillow, clutching it in his tiny fingers as he sighed. Killian padded barefoot from the room, mouthing the word ‘coffee’ to her with a smirk. Emma nodded thankfully and perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Will’s hair as he snoozed.

“So, Will sleepwalks?” Killian smirked, fully dressed now and pouring the steaming hot coffees into two mugs he had found in one of Emma’s cupboards. “Right into your bedroom.” Emma let out a breath, settling at the dining table and hanging her head in her hands with a giggle. She was still wearing his college shirt, her pajamas pants hanging low on her hips and exposing a tiny bit of the flesh of her stomach. Her body had changed with pregnancy, her hips a little fuller and her skin a little loser, but Killian found it endearing, like he was getting to know a whole new Emma.

“Every day at six,” Emma nodded once in agreement. “Every day since he was three.”

Killian made a sound in his throat and handed her her coffee, cream and two sugars, just the way she liked it. He stood beside her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing the curve of the bone through the tee. “I thought I’d lost this,” he said idly, plucking at the grey fabric.

Emma turned and smiled at him sweetly, her eyes still heavy from their lack of sleep and her hair a mess. She looks beautiful, even more than before they broke up, her cheeks still the same rosy softness and her lips still the same, perfectly curved and kissable. Killian matched her smile, his lips turning up on one side before he bent over and gave her a sideways kiss. It was soft and gentle and so slow that Emma couldn’t ignore the ache low in her stomach and the hum of content on his lips.

“What are you doing to me?” She sighed happily, wrapping her hand around his arm and tracing the outline of his bicep with her fingers. Killian simply quirked a brow, a modest smirk on his face. “I mean it, Jones. I’m so confused right now.”

Killian grabbed the chair beside him and slid it across the tiled floor until he could sit closer to her, his coffee sitting next to hers on top of the wooden surface between them. “What do you mean?” He asked her with a frown. “Do you regret last night?”

“God, no!” Emma said with a smirk, recalling the way she had felt with his head between her legs. Killian caught her reminiscing and poked his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip agonizingly slowly, the taste of her still lingering on his lips, his eyebrow jumping up on his face once more. “No,” Emma said firmly when she caught him watching her. “It’s just…”

“Talk to me,” Killian pleaded gently, leaning forward and pulling her hands into his. “We can’t do this again if we are not honest with each other.” His fingers were hot on hers and her palms a little sweaty from clutching the steaming hot coffee mug for so long. His fingers danced up and down her forearms, his touch almost soothing her and chasing away her worries. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can…”

“Mommy?” Will’s voice interrupted them and Killian jumped back, sitting back up in his chair and clearing his throat.

“Hey, baby,” Emma cooed, twisting her frame in her seat and reaching with open arms for her son.

“What are you guys doing?” Will looked between them, eyeing Killian suspiciously. He had only met him briefly before now and Emma wasn’t completely enthused by the idea of him knowing too much at the moment.

“Well,” Emma started, looking to Killian and extending the syllable to give her a little more time to come up with an answer.

“We were talking about breakfast,” Killian offered casually, giving Will a small smile. “What does a growing lad like yourself eat for breakfast?” Killian took a sip of his coffee and awaited Will’s reply.

“Pop tarts!” Will declared with a squeak.

“You do not,” Emma declared, aghast. Will looked at her and hunched his shoulders, hiding his face in his hands as he giggled nervously. Emma jabbed her fingers into his side and he wiggled on her lap as she tickled him. “Nice try though.”

“Oh, you are a scoundrel,” Killian noted, pointing a finger at Will who just gave him a grin. Killian winked at her knowingly. “How about pancakes?” He offered and Emma looked at him surprised.

“Can we have bananas on top?” Will asked excitedly. “And chocolate sauce?” His voice jumped and he almost fell from Emma’s grip when he shuffled to the edge of her knees in his eagerness. Killian looked at Emma who nodded at him, but when he looked back to Will he gave a look of feigned disgust.

“If you must,” he sighed with a dramatic eye roll. “You ever made pancakes before?” Killian asked him and Will shook his head shyly. “Well, in that case, how about I show you?”

“Can he, Mom? Can he show me?” Will screeched excitedly, bouncing up and down in her arms.

“Okay, okay,” Emma conceded and Will shouted gleefully, slapping his hands on the tabletop. Killian leaned forward on his elbow and held out his hand, his palm flat and open. Will grinned cheekily and slapped Killian’s hand with his own followed by a bout of his infectious laughing.

In the time it had taken Killian to rise, Will was at the other side of the kitchen and dragging his stepping stool towards the counter so he could be the right height. Killian gathered the ingredients, some he had discovered earlier whilst looking for the coffee mugs, and some with Emma’s help. Will awkwardly pulled up his sleeves and bobbed up and down on the stool. “Yay!” He sang like he had never been so happy.

“You don’t have to do this,” Emma told Killian on a whisper, snaking her hand around his waist and pressing her body into his side.

“I want to,” Killian beamed at her, cracking an egg into a plastic bowl. No sooner had the yolk settled in the curve of the bowl, Emma’s phone rang and she sighed with a groan. It was her work phone, likely something important even if it was the weekend, so she had no choice but to answer it.

“Do you mind?” Emma asked sorrowfully, nudging her head towards Will. The youngster was watching Killian with a fascinated stare, tilting his head like a puppy at the way the eggs sat side by side in the bowl but did not mix.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Killian nodded reassuringly and Emma gave him a little wink.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised, walking backwards from the kitchen and turning at the last second to answer her call. Killian turned back to Will, handing him a sieve. Will took it, twisting it in his hands and inspecting it with a frown.

“What’s this?” Will asked innocently.

“That’s a sieve,” Killian said with a smile.

“What’s it for?” Will looked up to Killian hopefully, genuinely intrigued.

“Ah, well,” Killian began, moving the bowl of eggs in front of Will and helping him to rest the sieve across the top of the bowl. He reached for the bag of flour and shook some of the fine, white dust into the curved sifter, watching intently until he was sure he had emptied enough flour into it. Killian and Liam always made pancakes and he rarely needed scales to make sure his amounts were spot on, instead using his eye and a confidence in cooking he had learned from his brother. Once satisfied with the amount, Killian rolled the top of the bag down and set it aside, giving Will a wooden spoon and pointing to the bowl. “Tap the side of the bowl,” Killian instructed with an encouraging smile.

Will look confused for a second but when he hit the spoon on the side of the plastic and a layer of flour drifted through the sieve onto the eggs below, he shrieked in delight. He tapped again, and again, until the entire amount of flour had fallen through, looking up at Killian with a proud boyish grin. “I did it!” He declared, clutching the spoon in his hands tightly.

“Good lad,” Killian nodded, giving Will a thumbs up.

“What next?” Will asked excitedly, peering into the bowl.

Killian added a pinch of salt, a glug of milk and then he began whisking the mixture, making sure to beat the lumps out with the most effort. Half way he stopped and offered the bowl over to Will, helping him grip the whisk properly and showing him how to hit the side of the bowl repetitively to create a light, fluffy mixture. Will’s tongue poked out as he worked, his little arm tiring quickly and his whole body sagging with effort.

“Come on,” Killian encouraged with a laugh. “I thought you were strong?”

“I am!” Will laughed back, his shoulders sagging as he gave Killian a pleading glance and pushed the bowl towards him. “But you are stronger,” he noted. “You should do the most work.”

Killian couldn’t help but laugh again, the feeling of genuine innocence at Will’s words doing something inside of his heart that he had never felt before. There was a short pause with him just looking at the boy and seeing Emma’s cherub cheeks and her wonderful smile duplicated on the face of her son, the gleeful glint in his eyes the same one his mother had when she was a teenager. “You are a clever lad,” Killian told Will softly, resuming his whisking, checking the batter for lumps periodically.

Will leaned forward on the counter, head propped up on his elbow as he watched the bubbles in the batter pop. “Are you my new daddy?” He asked sweetly, not looking up as he did.

Killian’s face paled instantly and he swallowed a hard lump down his throat. It must have been hard on the boy to see Emma and Graham separate. He remembered how confusing it was for him when his parents decided to divorce, and how he had his older brother to see him through, guide him into adulthood without his father figure. Will didn’t have that, being an only child, and Killian stopped his whisking to turn and face him.

“I’m afraid not,” he told him sadly. “Do you miss your daddy?” Killian asked him softly, dipping his head to catch his eye.

Will nodded without taking his hand away from his face. “Mommy said he had to go away.”

Killian’s heart decided in that moment to split in two, the sadness laced in Will’s tiny voice, not yet old enough to realise how much of an effect what he was saying could have on anyone. “We can be friends, if you’d like?” Killian offered, letting the whisk roll against the side of the bowl and extending his hand out to Will. “I’m Killian,” he smiled with a nod.

“That’s a funny name!” Will chortled, covering his mouth with chubby fingers.

“Well, what’s your name?” Killian looked at Will with narrowed eyes.

“I’m Will,” the boy chirped, taking Killian’s hand and giving it an exaggerated shake. “Nice to meet you!” His antics made Killian chuckle inside and he suppressed a giggle.

“That’s a great name,” Killian told him. “I have a friend called Will. Good people are called Will.” Killian let his mind wander to the number of times Will Scarlett had been there for him. If it wasn’t for Scarlett and his friendship, Killian may never have come home from service, and he would certainly have drunk himself to death by now.

“Thanks,” Will sang, poking at the whisk like he wasn’t supposed to touch it. “It’s short for William, but Mommy never calls me that.” Will picked up the whisk again, poking it through the thickening batter. “I was named after my uncle. Mommy says he was a good person too, like my daddy, but Daddy is away right now because he was sad about Uncle Liam going to live with the angels.”

There were no words to describe the feeling of when the world falls out from under you and envelopes you at the same time, but Killian was pretty sure he had just felt it.

He felt the blood drain from his face, a slight dizziness washing over him as he felt his heart rate pick up in his chest. His breathing became laboured, his armpits turning suddenly hot and damp and every hair on his body standing on end at the same time.

Will was oblivious to how his words had struck him, the finality of what his brother’s death really meant to him hitting home once and for all, and the boy continued to prod the batter in the bowl. Killian frowned at the boy, watching the profile of his face, flashes of Graham from the photographs playing over in his mind. Graham had a round face whilst Will’s was much thinner, and his nose was different, curved rather than pointed. His lips were Emma’s and his cheeks were hers too, but his eyes were a sea green that he knew ran in his lineage. Killian reached out and brushed his hand through Will’s hair, parting the curly brown locks and revealing the soft point of an elven ear, the boy unaware to what he was searching for.

“Uncle Liam?” Killian croaked, his voice breaking a little, his fingers lingering over the back of the boys head tenderly.

“Yep,” Will said with a nod, standing up and turning to rest his behind against the counter. He fidgeted his feet, bumping them together. “William is like Liam, but not the Irish version.”

“How old are you, Will?” Killian asked, forcing a smile. “Do you know?”

Will gave him a wide, toothy grin and nodded confidently. “I am four and a half years old,” he declared happily, holding up four fingers and pinning half of his pinky finger back down. “That’s this many!”

“Okay, boys, I’m done,” Emma called out as she walked back into the kitchen, head down and fingers tapping at the screen of her phone as she set it back to the menu screen. She looked up, Will giving her his best boyish smile that reminded her so much of someone else she knew, but the contrast in his rosy cheeks to the panic and paleness in Killian’s made her freeze. She didn’t have to ask, she knew.

He knew.

“Will, honey, why don’t you go and play with your dinosaurs?” Emma encouraged him, not taking her eyes from Killian’s who was staring at her scandalized. He tore his gaze away the second Will jumped from the stool obediently and ran to his mother, hugging her legs and looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Can I help Killian flip the pancakes later?” He pouted, looking back at the man behind him who had turned his back on them both and was hunched over the bowl of batter once more.

“Sure, L-Bug,” Emma ruffled his hair, watching the ripple of muscles in Killian’s back flex each time he clenched his fists and then stretched out his fingers on the countertop. Will ran off, thanking Killian for teaching him how to make pancakes as he thundered up the stairs one step at a time, all the while singing to himself about his dinosaurs.

“Killian,” Emma said softly, his name on her lips full of silent apologies.

“It’s okay,” Killian turned to look at her, his mind reeling. “I mean, I think it’s okay,” he shrugged, moving to sit at the table once more and burying his face in his hands.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Emma joined him, grabbing his hand as she sat down beside him. He was in shock, she knew that, staring blankly at nowhere and the muscles of his face twitching with thought. “I wasn’t sure how you would react, if you would even want a baby,” Emma said, the back of her throat swelling a little with emotion. He didn’t answer her, mouth agape and eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

“Did you know?” Killian said, his voice breaking a little as his own tears threatened to put a crack in his voice. “When you left, did you know?”

Emma looked down at her lap and sighed. “I was eight weeks pregnant that night,” Emma swallowed hard, her voice echoing with the hurt she felt that night. Killian pinched his eyes closed, a tear finally rolling from his eyelids. He was ashamed beyond comprehension. Not only had he attempted to take Emma’s dignity by force, but he was absolutely sure that back then, the life growing inside of her would not have stopped him even if she had said.

“You did the right thing,” he gulped, finally turning his head to look at her with a nod.

“I wasn’t going to raise a child in that toxic, destructive environment,” Emma justified with a squeeze of his hand. “I wanted to change, being pregnant made me see that, but I wasn’t convinced that you could put a child above everything else.” Her voice broke, the tears finally spilling from her eyelids and the tingle in her nose starting as her sinuses become inflamed.

“I wouldn’t have,” Killian agreed. “I was selfish and despicable,” Killian spat, his words so full of venom for his former self that he could hardly believe how far he had come. “I didn’t even recognise that thing I was, Emma. I don’t hate you for leaving, and I don’t hate you for not telling me about Will. You did what was right by our son, and that is all that matters.”

Emma sucked in a breath, her lips quivering. “Our son?” She beamed at him with watery eyes, her fingers gripping his harder.

“I wasn’t ready to be a father,” Killian shook his head, reaching out to cup her face in his hand, his thumb tracing over the curve of her chin and wiping away her tears.

“How about now?” Emma asked hopefully.

Killian’s breath hitched with a nervous laugh before he moved forward to kiss her, lips shaking against each other, their faces so close that their tears mingled together against their skin. Emma shuffled forward on her chair, her knees bumping his and Killian tangled his hands through her hair, the softness caressing his fingertips and making him feel warm once more.

“Pick a partner who knows what she is doing,” Killian whispered against her lips as he broke the kiss and nudged her nose with his.

“What?” Emma chuckled, stroking the side of his face tenderly, still in a little daze from his kiss.

“Parenting,” Killian clarified, sitting back in his seat. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

“I’d like to think so,” Emma smiled sweetly.

“Then I choose you. I pick you. And if we falter, I’m sure we can work it out.” Killian gave her a happy grin, winking when she playfully tapped his hand with hers. They were the same words he had used when she told him she loved him over a decade ago, but now they were very different people and so much had happened between them. And they had a son, who needed them both to be the best people they could be and make sure he did not stray from the path, like they had.

Emma’s lips twitched into a small smile, the image of Killian in his prom tuxedo still fresh in her mind. He was just as handsome, if not more now, with a silvery edge to all his body hair that she absolutely loved. “Together?” She teased, echoing her teenage words.

“Together,” Killian nodded, squeezing her hand in his. It was the second time he would make the promise, but it would be the last time. Nothing could tear him away from his family now that he knew he had one, and as if on cue, the sound of Will’s footsteps hammering down the wooden staircase roused them both from their loving stares.

“Mommy!” Will called out as he ran into the kitchen. He was waving a piece of paper that depicted some figures drawn in front of a house, one with yellow hair and green eyes, one with black hair and blue eyes and between them a shorter figure who had brown hair and darker blue eyes. “Look!” Will chimed, slapping the paper to the table between them.

“Oh, you drew a picture,” Killian observed with a tilt of his head and a squint. “Of…” He began, struggling to see what he was actually looking at.

Will looked up at him with a frown. “It’s us!”

“Of course it is!” Killian declared, just as jovially and Emma smirked at him over Will’s head.

“That’s Mommy,” Will continued on, pointing to the yellow haired figure who was wearing blue pants and a red sweater or jacket of some kind.

“So pretty,” Killian whispered, keeping Emma’s gaze.

“And this is me.” Will didn’t even stop between breaths, or notice Killian’s attention had changed from his drawing to his mother.

“I thought you were taller,” Killian teased, tearing his eyes from Emma long enough to cock his head to one side and make Will laugh hysterically. “And who is this handsome fellow?” Killian tapped a finger to the tallest figure with blue eyes, black hair and what looked to be cocktail sticks shooting out of the bottom of his oval shaped face.

“That’s you!” Will told him proudly and before Killian had time to question his appearance, Will clarified his thought. “With your spiky beard!”

Emma couldn’t hold her laughter anymore and when Killian screwed up his face, clearly uneducated in the ways of children and how they had no filter, the sound sprang from her mouth making them all jump.

“You did a great job, L-Bug,” Emma said politely, covering her mouth as more giggles threatened to escape.

Killian smoothed his hand over the drawing, the crayon waxy under his touch, until he reached the bottom corner where there was a name. His brow knitted together. It looked familiar, an initial and a surname that made Killian’s lips spread into another smile and his heart swell with pride. “W Jones,” he breathed, not even realising his words were out loud.

“Yup!” Will shifted closer and his tiny body pressed into Killian’s knee, his warmth like a calm that Killian had never felt before. “William Jones,” he smiled up at Killian, both of them looking almost identical with their wide, boyish grins and slightly rosy cheeks. “I can’t write William yet though, so I just draw a ‘W’.”

“L-Bug, do you remember when I told you your daddy went away for a while?” Emma leaned forward, grabbing Will’s shoulders and pulling him into her embrace, hunching over and resting her chin over his shoulder. Will nodded, staring at Killian. “And do you remember how mommy told you that your surname was Jones, just like your daddy’s?”

Will nodded. “That’s why yours is different,” he said confidently.

“That’s right,” Emma said proudly. She kissed the side of his cheek, much to his disgust and then pointed over at Killian who was fidgeting nervously. “Why don’t you ask Killian what his last name is?”

Will paused, looking over the man in front of him. His fingers twisted together, not through nerves, because he was the most confident child Emma had ever met, but because he wasn’t sure how to say what she was sure he had already worked out. “Is your last name Jones too?” He asked softly, hand reaching up to scratch the patch of skin behind his ear.

“Aye,” Killian nodded.

“That means yes,” Emma whispered in Will’s ear. “Killian is your daddy,” she told him softly, the redness around Killian’s eyes unmistakable when Will’s face erupted in the largest of smiles.

“Daddy!” Will screamed, pulling free of Emma’s embrace and rushing forward. Killian was ready, arms open in a second and he pulled the boy into his embrace, holding on like he would never let go. Emma had never lied to Will about his father, skipping over details that a child didn’t need to know, but she had always encouraged him to love his father and if she was completely honest, she had hoped this day would come. “You came home!” Will cried into Killian’s sweater, his voice breaking as his emotions overtook him.

“I’m home,” Killian sobbed, his breath hitching a little as he held his son, tiny arms grabbing onto the material of his sweater and holding on for dear life. “I promise I am not going anywhere ever again.”

There was nothing else left to say that hadn’t already been said. There were no more tears left to cry after that day, only bridges to build and hearts to mend in the only way having a child could. Killian doted on Will and made sure that he felt loved more than anything in the world, giving him everything he could possibly afford and then some. Will returned the favour ten-fold, even if he had no idea how simply being himself had such an effect on his father.

Their journey had been long and the road laid out in front of them had no clear end, but two years later when Killian cradled their newborn son in his arms, he had a different story to tell when he attended each meeting, and he would make sure this one had a happy ending.


End file.
